


heartache and other hauntings

by knightspur



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Ghosts, Implied Haunting, Kim Mingyu-centric, M/M, Magical Realism, Palm Reading, Rebuilding, Strangers to Lovers, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2019-10-13 12:53:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17488394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightspur/pseuds/knightspur
Summary: “So tell me about the house,” Minghao says, his back to Mingyu. He’s measuring out tea leaves into a tiny mesh basket.“Um, it used to be my grandparents’,” Mingyu says, sitting upright like a puppet pulled by a string. Minghao must hear him jerk because there’s muted amusement in the way he looks back at Mingyu.“Are they the ones haunting it?” He asks.There is a boy, a witch, and a haunted house.





	1. from eden

One of Mingyu’s earliest memories is the long gravel drive that leads from the road up to his grandparent’s house. He’s most familiar with it in the summer, with the trees lush and green on both sides of the road. He used to sit in the back seat of the car to lean his head out the window. He liked letting the warm air blow against his face and make a mess of his hair.

Today, the ride is more somber than the ones he used to take with his family. He’s alone and rather than an emerald world surrounding the car, the leaves have made a thin carpet on the ground as they start to shake free from the trees. Mingyu has never seen the farm in the fall, and the trees have all flushed bright oranges and reds. It makes for quite a sight, but it also adds to the slight chill in the air. The cool seems to have joined Mingyu in the car as well, in spite of the heat turned on high and the windows shut tight.

He knows his parents went to visit a few times after his grandmother passed; making sure the house was in order and there were no major problems that would send it tumbling down any time soon. But Mingyu never went along on those trips, nor the ones several years earlier when his grandfather got sick. So this marks his first time seeing the house as it is now; a hollowed out shell set back in the forest with a few acres of land and not a soul on it.

In spite of his mom’s assurances, before he left, Mingyu was half expecting a pile of rubble rather than a house. But when it rises into view at the end of the drive, it's upright and remarkably tidy from the outside. The lawn is overgrown and the fences need repair before they held an animal again. But his first sight of the farmhouse leaves Mingyu with a surprising sense of optimism.

It looks very much the way he remembers— painted a cheerful shade of blue with straight white trim and a porch big enough for a few chairs. There is a balcony on the back of the house, though it hangs off the attic, not the second story of the house. No one ever figured out the trick of getting on it without a ladder. It has an overflow of leaves and the paint is more worn. The gravel crunches under his tires as he parks his car, and Mingyu's struck by the fond familiarity of the sound.

When his grandmother passed away, his mother inherited the property. But she didn’t have the heart to sell the home she grew up in, and after cleaning it out, she decided to keep it. The house was long since paid for and if nothing else it was a problem that could keep for another day. For the last two years, it’s stood occupied and only barely attended to. So, when Mingyu ventured the idea of needing an escape, his mother was only too happy to offer him the farmhouse for as long as he wanted to use it.

That leaves Mingyu with the task of cleaning it up and making sure it actually still is livable, first. He steps out of the car, a shiver crawling up his spine at the shift from warm to cold. All he has with him is a large suitcase and a few boxes of necessities. Everything else is a day or two behind him in the care of movers. He planned to make the drive out himself first and put things in order before he had all the boxes to deal with as well.

The key to the farmhouse is already on his keys and he’s surprised by how well the door opens. He only has to give the wood a slight shove to loosen it but once free of the jamb it swings in without a groan.

Inside, it’s very much the place Mingyu remembers spending his summers when he was young. By the time he reached his teen years, he had other interests and more options for what to do with the summer. He spent less and less time out in the country. The curtains are more faded and there’s a layer of dust settled over things, but the furniture is much the same.

But the walls are bare and the room is unbearably quiet. He closes the door behind him, though he regrets it immediately. Chilly as it is outside, the air inside is oppressive. Past the entryway, the couch and chair in the living room are both covered with plastic and it only adds to the strange feeling Mingyu has about being here. It’s just been too long since he last saw it. The whole house had faded into his memories of childhood and it’s odd to see it now; left behind while he continued growing.

Rather than dwell on the oddness of it, Mingyu puts himself to the task of going through the house and opening the windows. It’ll be cold later, especially if he forgets to close any of them. The whole house seems to breathe a sigh of relief, the fresh air banishing the last of the eerie feeling in the air.

For a moment, Mingyu lingers in what must’ve been a guest room. It’s devoid of furniture now, save for a massive bookshelf that takes up almost the entire wall. Mingyu doesn’t remember it from being here when he was a child but he supposes it could be something he overlooked. Or maybe it came later— when he was young Mingyu was always trying to get his hands on something to read.

Either way, he likes it. It’ll be a good spot to put an office, even if he might not be using it very much for a while.

The master bathroom has a much larger tub than he remembered, though it’s still doubtful he would be able to fit. When he leans to push open the small bathroom window, he’s surprised by a series of rocks sitting on it. They’re all roughly the same size, polished until they shine in the afternoon sun, and sitting in a perfect line. Mingyu pauses, picking one up and rolling it between his fingers. It’s warm, the smooth surface flawless as well as he can tell. Curious, Mingyu sweeps the rest of them into his hand and deposits them onto the counter for later.

With the windows open, breathing fresh air into every room, Mingyu sets about his next task: Cleaning. He thought to pack enough cleaning supplies in his car to at least tackle the dust and the floors. And for making sure that there’s nothing lurking in the musty corners.  


* * *

  
It takes Mingyu two hours to clean the house from bottom to top. Everything but the attic, which he doesn’t dare tackle by himself for fear of an unexpected housemate hiding up there.

When he finishes, he’s satisfied, if much dustier than he was before. 

He settles on the clean couch, glad for the foreboding layer of plastic that was covering it up. There are several emails and texts waiting for him when he pulls out his phone but he ignores them. There’s service, though not much, and Mingyu is in no rush to find someone to hook the place up with the internet. He’ll have to see to it sometime but he’ll keep it around as an excuse for a little while, at least.

No internet means the emails from his publisher can go unanswered for a few more days. Mingyu swipes the evidence of the outside world away. The first thing he needs to do now that the place is clean is call his mom.

It only takes a few rings for her to pick up. “You said you'd call me when you got there.”

The immediate scolding takes Mingyu by surprise and he laughs, ducking his head forward. “Sorry. I thought I’d clean up a little first.”

“So the house still stands?” She asks. Mingyu hums, leaning his head back to examine the cobwebs still lingering in the corners.

“All upright,” Mingyu says, stretching out his long legs. “It shouldn’t be hard to move in as long as everything works.”

“Well I had the heat and power turned on for you,” she says. Mingyu can hear the sounds of her doing something in the kitchen— the sizzle of something hitting the heat of a pan. It reminds him, sharply, that he’s definitely hungry himself.

He doesn’t miss home— not yet. It helps that he’s lived on his own for years already. The quiet doesn’t trouble him. At least, living in the city it didn’t. Quiet out here in the country is different than the quiet that he’s used to.

“Are you sure you’re gonna be okay out there by yourself?” She asks, the concern in her voice reeling Mingyu’s attention back.

“It’s really not bad,” Mingyu says. “The driveway is pretty with all the trees changing color.”

The sun is beginning to sink and he’ll have to close all the windows before it gets too cold in the house. There’s still a mattress upstairs in the bedroom, but Mingyu feels very odd about using it. He’ll stick to the couch until the movers come to bring him his own.

“Do you know how long you’re gonna stay out there, honey?” This is a less immediate concern. It sits in the back of her voice, coal waiting to ignite into flame.

“Not yet,” Mingyu says, dragging his fingers over the fabric of the couch. He has enough of an advance to live off for awhile, as long as he’s careful with his money, and royalties enough to pay the bills and eat.

A few months of playing a hermit and he’ll want to go back, anyway. “Awhile, I guess. I need a break.”

“Well,” she says. Mingyu can hear plates clattering together and for a second he shuts his eyes and tries to picture what she might be making. He thinks of kimchi fried rice first and without permission, his stomach growls. “Take all the time you need. It’s better for a house to have someone in it.”

“I gotta stock up the fridge,” Mingyu says, pulling himself up to his feet with a sigh. “I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“Don’t forget,” she says. “I love you, dear. Don’t get so caught up cleaning the place that you forget to rest.”

“I won’t,” Mingyu says. All her fretting makes him smile. “I love you, too.”

Mingyu hangs up the phone and then sets to work shutting all the windows before he goes out to find groceries.  


* * *

  
The first few nights in the farmhouse offer Mingyu all the peace he was looking for. The house isn’t far from the nearby town— only a few minutes drive— but being set back from the road and surrounded by land makes it feel remote.

It is the perfect place to hide, and moving his things in and cleaning the place gives Mingyu something to focus his mind on. Anything other than his makeshift study with his laptop laying on the bare hardwood floor next to the monumental bookshelf. He’s avoided spending any time on it so far. The house doesn’t have internet yet, anyway, so checking his emails is a hassle. That only leaves the blank draft of his next book.

Mingyu isn’t ready to go back to having day-long staring contests with the blinking cursor yet.

After the movers bring his things out, Mingyu has several days to himself unpacking. For the most part, it’s relaxing. He puts on music and puts the house into working order, one room at a time.

But, as forgetful and clumsy as he is, Mingyu keeps finding things in the places he least expects them. Items he’s sure he packed in one labeled box turn up in another. Sometimes things he’s certain he didn’t unpack show up in drawers or on counters, leaving Mingyu wondering how they got there in the first place.

He writes it off, for the most part. Going through all his things is a long process and it makes sense that he might not remember everything. There’s no one else to mess around with things, anyway.

When a watch he was certain he packed with the rest of his accessories fails to turn up, Mingyu makes a sour face and puts it out of his mind.  


* * *

  
Choi Hansol is the first person Mingyu meets in town. He’s young and ropey; moving like he’s poured out of a bottle. But he’s also charming, in an off-beat kind of way.

He works in the grocery store. His primary occupation seems to be standing at the check out counter and writing in a notebook with his headphones in. Mingyu hardly ever sees more than a handful of people in the store, so he supposes it doesn’t mind if one of the workers is a little bit of a slacker.

Hansol picks his head up a moment after Mingyu approaches the counter, a wide smile spreading over his face. “You’re still around, huh?”

“I am.” It’s the third or fourth time Mingyu has been to the shop— moving into a new house means stocking up on basic items. Most of them he doesn’t realize he’s missing until he needs them.

“You keeping all this food in a hotel room?” Hansol asks, the drawl of his voice a perfect match to the pace of him scanning Mingyu’s groceries. He still has the headphone in his ear, the wire connecting him to the phone in his pocket.

“No,” Mingyu says, shaking his head with a smile. “I’m, uh, new in the neighborhood.”

“That doesn’t happen often,” Hansol says. He sounds pleased rather than critical.

“What are you writing?” Mingyu asks because he’s been curious the last few times he came in. It seemed strange to ask but Hansol seems relaxed enough.

“Lyrics,” Hansol says, pausing in bagging Mingyu’s spices to adjust the headphone. “I’m a rapper.”

“Oh,” Mingyu says because he’s not sure how one responds to that, exactly.

“I’m not one of those guys who tattoos their face for attention or something,” he says, rolling his eyes. “It’s real stuff. I’m learning how to produce music, too.”

Mingyu nods along this time, leaning on the counter rather than reaching for his wallet. Hansol, for his part, seems happy to talk.

“What is it you do, then?” He asks, leaning his head to the side. “And where are you staying?”

“My family owns a small farm out here,” Mingyu says. “And I’m… between things right now, I guess.”

“A farm?” Hansol actually removes the earbud from his ear, blinking his doe-eyes. “You mean the old Kim place?”

“Yeah,” Mingyu says, though he’s not sure the house is old enough to qualify for _that_. “It belonged to my grandparents.”

“Cool,” Hansol says, tucking the last of Mingyu’s food in a now over-stuffed paper bag. “I’ve always wanted to check that place out.”

“Check it out?” Mingyu asks, furrowing his brow a little bit. “I don’t think it’d be fun to tour.”

“I’ve heard it’s haunted,” Hansol says, his shoulders lifting.

Mingyu purses his lips together. He’s heard that before— from other kids he met and befriended while staying over the summers. The rumor goes back further than Mingyu’s family and their ownership of the place. According to his mom, it’s always had spirits living in it. He doesn’t remember anything like that from growing up but Mingyu didn’t take much interest in ghosts as a kid.

He’s not very interested in them now, either. If it weren’t for his mom’s stories he’d dismiss the whole thing as a stupid teenage joke.

“I don’t think it is,” Mingyu says, finally, taking the change that Hansol hands back to him. 

Hansol is still grinning, fitting the headphone back in place while Mingyu gathers his bags up. There are no other customers that Mingyu can see and Hansol is only too happy to go back to what he was working on. Now that he’s looking for it, Mingyu can see the fingers of his left hand tapping out a rhythm as he writes.

He leaves the little shop with a smile.  


* * *

  
Something has been scratching around in the attic since Mingyu decided to head to bed and shut the lights off. The sound is inconstant but as soon as Mingyu begins drifting off again, it starts back up.

It sounds like something, or many somethings, have indeed decided to share the house with him. Mingyu drags the blanket up over his shoulder and presses his face into the pillow. The scratching is hard to ignore. Every time something starts moving on the floor above him Mingyu’s heart swells up to block his throat.

He should’ve given in and checked the attic several days ago. No doubt there’s evidence up there of his new guests setting up a comfortable, dry spot in one of the corners. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to fall asleep through sheer will, but the scratching resumes. It sounds almost like something scraping in circles above where he has the bed positioned.

Mingyu sits up and takes a moment to consider his options. He could keep trying to ignore the scratching and risk getting less sleep than he’s used to. He could go downstairs and occupy the couch for another night.

Or he could go up to the attic and try to scare off the source of the sound.

As soon as the idea occurs to him Mingyu’s stomach sinks. It’s the worst thing to do, but he’s already dragging himself out of bed for it. Maybe he’ll get lucky and it’ll be something easy to deal with. 

It takes a little digging around to find a flashlight— he’s lucky he left one sitting in the bathroom after his adventure getting the sink working. But he too soon finds himself standing beneath the hatch that leads to the attic.

He’s only been up there once so far. It was in the middle of the afternoon and he was trying to figure out if it was even possible to get onto the balcony from the attic. As far as he could tell, nothing was ever built to actually lead out there. Other than a few boxes of things that his mom packed up and stowed away, the attic was empty and shut tight. Or so Mingyu had thought.

Crawling up through the hatch is a different experience than it was during the day. As dark as it is, they’re out far enough in the country that the night sky is wide and bright, the moon casting more light over the room than Mingyu was expecting. It makes the shadows deeper too— the whole room rich with cobwebs and gloom.

The scratching stopped when Mingyu was making his way down the hall with the flashlight in hand, but he still sweeps the pale beam of it over the room. Compared to the hollow blue light in the room already, it seems especially wan. 

Still, all Mingyu can see is a small pile of what looks like marbles or polished rocks sitting on one of the windows. He didn’t notice them but he also wasn’t looking for them, either.

“If something is up here, um,” Mingyu says, the echo of his voice almost startling him off the ladder. “Can you keep it down? I need to sleep.”

He must be lacking in human contact much more severely than he thought. He hangs on the ladder for an extra moment, still, waiting for the darkness to answer back.

Nothing comes of it and after a moment, Mingyu ducks his head and sighs, climbing back down. He shuts the attic up and creeps his way back to bed, feet light on the old floor even though there’s no one in the house for him to wake.

A moment after his head hits the pillow, the sound starts up again.  


* * *

  
“I can’t believe you moved three weeks ago and didn’t bother to get internet,” Jihoon says, squinting at his screen. He’s trying to make faces, but the connection isn’t what Mingyu's used to and his face is grainy and smudged. Still, the frown on his face is familiar enough that Mingyu doesn’t have to guess much at the rest of his expression. “Three weeks. You’re pretty much dead to me, now.”

“You could’ve called me,” Mingyu says, rolling his eyes. “I’ve had my phone.”

“I thought you weren’t answering,” Jihoon says, shaking his head. He’s cropped all his hair off again— his natural response to stress— and it looks like he did it himself this time since Mingyu wasn’t on hand to help. He’s done a botch job of it, but Mingyu doubts Jihoon could care less.

“I am for some people,” Mingyu says, shrugging his shoulders.

He’s put the study in some kind of order, though it doesn’t have a desk. He hasn’t yet been able to find one that looks right paired with the massive bookshelf. So, he’s sitting on the floor, legs spread out in front of him.

“Are you sick of the country yet?” Jihoon asks, leaning forward like he might be able to get a better look at the room. Mingyu's treated to the extreme zoom of his other eye and he has to bite back the urge to laugh.

“It’s not bad,” Mingyu says, looking around with a smile. “The people here are nice and I love how quiet it is.”

“Not bad?” Jihoon asks, sitting back in his seat again. “No gushing about the leaves or seeing a rabbit or anything? What’s wrong with it?”

“Ah,” Mingyu sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “The house is a bit… rougher than I expected.”

There’s a lot to do— between small repairs and making the place feel comfortable. But Mingyu can’t shake the feeling that there’s something else _off_ about the house. Something he hasn’t found a way to explain yet.

Mingyu can hear the sound of Soonyoung clattering around in another room. It’s anyone’s guess what he’s doing; he has a talent for making plenty of noise doing even small tasks. The noise draws Jihoon’s attention and for a moment there’s a slight smile on his face.

“Yah,” Jihoon says, raising his voice. “Didn’t you wanna say hi to Mingyu?”

Soonyoung yells something indistinct in return. Mingyu can hear his approaching footsteps pounding over the thin floor of their shared apartment.

He hooks his chin over Jihoon’s shoulder, squishing their cheeks together and squeezing Jihoon’s arms to his sides. “Hi, Mingyu.”

“He says living in the middle of nowhere sucks,” Jihoon says, making a token struggle against Soonyoung hanging onto him. Soonyoung grins, leaning in closer to the camera.

“Really? Are you coming back?” He asks, sounding far too excited about that fact.

“It’s not bad!” Mingyu says, whining. “I’m just getting used to things.”

“What’s wrong?” Soonyoung asks, trying to make eye contact with the lens of the camera rather than the screen. Mingyu feels like he’s skyping his parents, not his former roommates.

“There’s a squirrel here or something,” Mingyu says, running his fingers through his hair with a sigh. “I keep finding weird pebbles and there are weird noises at night.”

“A squirrel is leaving you rocks?” Soonyoung says, finally looking properly at Mingyu’s face. “At night?”

“I don’t know what else it could be,” Mingyu says, throwing his hands up. “I haven’t seen anything and no one else is here but me.”

“It’s a ghost,” Soonyoung says, shaking Jihoon back and forth in his excitement. Jihoon shoves at Soonyoung’s arms, trying to worm his way free without success. “You didn’t tell me it was a haunted place.”

“That’s morbid,” Mingyu says, thought the same thought has been worming its way into his head as well. “It’s an animal trying to get warm.”

“Are there cold spots too?” Soonyoung says, his hands resting on Jihoon’s shoulders once Jihoon manages to shake him off.

“It’s an old place,” Mingyu says, shaking his head with a laugh. “It’s got nothing but cold spots.”

“Ghosts,” Soonyoung says, lowering his voice this time. Jihoon’s shoulders are shaking in quiet laughter. Soonyoung doesn’t seem to have noticed it. It’s just like Soonyoung to take something like this so seriously. 

“You might need a ghost hunter,” Jihoon says, leaning his head back against Soonyoung’s shoulder. “You could really be a danger.”

“Well it didn’t try to hurt you, did it?” It takes Soonyoung a moment to catch on, though it only makes him smile all the more. It’s a sign of Jihoon indulging him, just like the way Jihoon’s hand runs up and down Soonyoung’s arm. 

“No,” Mingyu says, fighting the urge to frown. It isn’t that the conversation troubles him, but it does make Mingyu realize how much he’s missed the two of them.

There are plenty of things in life that Mingyu was looking to get away from by coming out here, but it wasn’t these two. Something beeps loudly in the other room and Soonyoung bolts upright. He presses a quick, messy kiss to Jihoon’s temple before darting off into the other room. Jihoon laughs, curling his legs up in the expansive chair with him. It makes the flimsy desk that sits opposite his producing equipment shake.

When he looks back at the screen, something must show on Mingyu’s face.

“He misses you,” Jihoon says, glancing back at the door.

“Do you miss me?” Mingyu asks, leaning toward the screen. It’s easier to try and tease Jihoon than admit that he feels the same.

“Of course not,” Jihoon says, grabbing a black cap off the desk and scraping his hair out of his face before putting it on. “I love having a million more dishes to do and Soonyoung complaining every day I work late.”

“You work late every day,” Mingyu says, shaking his head.

Jihoon shrugs his shoulders. He goes quiet for a moment, dragging his fingers across the desk. Mingyu can sense him building up the courage to say something he doesn’t want to so he doesn’t say anything else either. 

“Jeonghan called about you,” Jihoon says, staring down at his lap. “You didn’t tell him you moved?”

“He doesn’t really need to know,” Mingyu says, laughing nervously. “We never meet in person, really.”

“He’s your agent,” Jihoon says, his voice flat. “And he found out you moved from _me_.”

The emphasis makes Mingyu cringe, shaking his head. “I don’t have anything else to talk to him about so I haven’t…”

“You're dodging his calls,” Jihoon says. “He’s gonna drive out there if you don’t talk to him.”

Mingyu wants to shove the laptop away and hide behind his knees like a child. “I will. Soon.”

“It’s that bad?” Jihoon asks, his voice tipping toward sympathy. Mingyu doesn’t really want that either but it’s better than hearing his threats on Jeonghan’s behalf.

“Yeah,” Mingyu says, shrinking down a little further. “It’s that bad.”

Jihoon nods his head slowly, adjusting his hat once again. When there’s something emotional going on, he always likes to have something to do with his hands. Sometimes Mingyu feels like the habit has bled over to him too. Or maybe neither of them were good at sitting still to begin with.

“You’ll figure it out,” Jihoon says, leaving his pity down for iron confidence. It lifts Mingyu’s spirits a little. It doesn’t matter if he believes Jihoon or not— it’s enough that he doesn’t dare disappoint him.

“Thanks,” Mingyu says, laughing. “I should let you get back to work.”

Jihoon hums, his eyes roving over the screen. He hates goodbyes and Mingyu isn’t surprised when all he does is wave before ending the call.

Mingyu shuts his laptop and drags himself up off the floor, stretching. He really needs to find a desk to put in here.  


* * *

  
Two more weeks of late night scratching and rooms that fill Mingyu with a strange chill and he’s almost glad to have the chance to talk to Hansol about it.

It turns out that Hansol still exists when he’s not manning the shop— which Mingyu has since learned belongs to his parents. He even offered to show Mingyu the best place in town for coffee.

So, when Mingyu sits down across from Hansol with a satisfyingly hot and bitter espresso, he’s sort of excited about the whole thing. It’s nice to have a friend— as much as he’s enjoyed the small town peace, it’s hard not to be lonely.

“You mean the place is really haunted?” Hansol asks, his head leaning to the side. He has a beanie pulled down almost over his eyebrows and a pair of round, violet sunglasses perched on his head. “Like, for real?”

“I don’t know,” Mingyu says, sighing out a single breath. “It’s weird. It could be tons of stuff.”

“But you think it’s a ghost,” Hansol says, leaning across the table with a grin.

“You want me to think it’s a ghost,” Mingyu says, taking a sip of the espresso. He wrinkles his nose at the taste but the heat spreads through his stomach and eases the bitterness in his mouth.

“That’s too complicated,” Hansol says, shaking his head. “What else would it be?”

“A lost bird,” Mingyu says, though the answer sits wrong with him. He’s not sure that it really is a ghost, but it isn’t one of the dozen other explanations Mingyu has tried to give himself.

“Anyway,” Hansol says, ignoring Mingyu’s flimsy excuse. “I know someone who can help you with this kinda stuff.”

“You know someone who deals with ghosts?” Mingyu asks. He can’t help but laugh, but Hansol doesn’t join him.

“A friend of mine,” Hansol says, nodding. “He’s really cool. I can hook you up.”

“If you think he can actually help,” Mingyu says, hedging a little. He has no idea if he actually needs the help of some kind of ghost hunter or psychic or whatever Hansol has in mind.

But he’d kill to get a full night’s sleep again, and if this can help Mingyu is willing to put up with a little bit more weirdness.

“Fine,” Mingyu says, peering at the gathered grounds in the bottom of his cup. “Give me his number.”  


* * *

  
It turns out that Hansol’s friend, Xu Minghao, is Mingyu’s neighbor. He insists they have to talk about everything in person— on the phone he only gives Mingyu his address and a time to come by. His voice is crisp and soft and he sounds like he can’t be any older than Mingyu is.

Strangely, Mingyu finds himself excited as he drives down the short gravel stretch to the neighboring home. It’s cut through the woods and even though the house has sat unoccupied for years, the path is still clear of branches and easy to see.

The place is even smaller than Mingyu’s— a little cottage dwarfed by the trees around it. The clay roof is covered in lichen and thick vines are creeping up one of the sides. There’s a curl of smoke rising from the chimney and Mingyu can see an expansive garden behind the house.

He climbs out of the car slowly, pausing once again to take in the place.

There’s a charm to it, Mingyu decides. The door is a cheerful red, though it's started to peel from the elements. It thuds hollowly when Mingyu knocks on it.

The boy who opens the door is half a head shorter than Mingyu, his hair long and jet black, bangs dangling in his eyes. He leans on the door when he opens it, his gaze dragging over Mingyu, a lazy smile spreading across his face.

“Um,” Mingyu says, taken aback. “Hi. I’m Mingyu. I had an, uh, appointment.”

The smile fades.

“Neighbor with the haunting problem?” Minghao asks. In person, his voice is even softer. Mingyu finds himself leaning in slightly to try and hear him better. 

“Yeah,” Mingyu says, rocking back onto his heels. “I guess. I don’t really know if that’s what the problem is or not…”

“Come in,” Minghao says, stepping out of the way. “I’ll make tea and you can tell me about it.”  


* * *

  
While Minghao is brewing tea, Mingyu is sitting in his kitchen trying to take in the space. The cottage is cozy inside, with a cheerful fire burning in the hearth. 

It’s also much more packed than Mingyu could have imagined— every surface of the living room is covered in books, or strange sparkling rocks, or what seems to be bits of bone. There are other trinkets too— a small dish full of keys, bits of silver and gold wire gathered up together, dried flowers hanging from a shelf.

Minghao, dressed in black, fits the surroundings perfectly. He’s so skinny that Mingyu can almost see the knobs of his spine through his knit turtleneck. There’s a grace to the way he moves and when Mingyu isn’t staring at the decor he’s stealing glances at the host.

He’s uncertain what kind of person Hansol sent him to see.

“So tell me about the house,” Minghao says, his back to Mingyu. He’s measuring out tea leaves into a tiny mesh basket.

“Um, it used to be my grandparents’,” Mingyu says, sitting upright like a puppet pulled by a string. Minghao must hear him jerk because there’s muted amusement in the way he looks back at Mingyu.

“Are they the ones haunting it?” He asks. He leans up on his toes, opening one of the upper cabinets to take down two thick stoneware mugs. Mingyu feels the need to stand up and offer his help but by the time he’s decided he _should_ do it, Minghao drops back to his feet and sets them both on the counter.

“No,” Mingyu says, then clears his throat. “I don’t know. I don’t think that’s it.”

“Okay,” Minghao says, nodding. He pours the tea, turning around to set one of the mugs carefully in front of Mingyu. The steam rising from the other one fogs the glasses on his face, sitting right on the tip of his nose. “So the energy you feel isn’t familiar to you?”

Mingyu’s tongue feels sticky— melted to the back of his teeth like candy.

“I guess not,” Mingyu says, staring at the surface of his tea. Minghao sets his own mug down before taking the seat across from Mingyu.

“You’re not sure what to believe,” Minghao says, folding his hands in his lap. He has long fingers and Mingyu notices a silver ring around his thumb.

“It could be anything,” Mingyu says, shrugging.

“It could be,” Minghao says, lifting the mug to his lips and blowing the steam in Mingyu’s direction.

Mingyu scowls, his leg bouncing under the table.

“I might be able to help even if it’s not a ghost,” Minghao says when Mingyu still doesn’t volunteer more information. He looks around the room, a smile on his face. “I know a little about keeping up with old houses.”

He looks less intimidating than when Mingyu first saw him. He has his sweater bunched around his palms to insulate his hands from the heat of the mug and the light outside has gone fuzzy and gray— clouds drifting in front of the sun.

“The place is a little weird,” he says finally, scraping his nail along the edge of the table in thought. “There’s a lot of scratching around at night but it could be an animal…”

“Like a mouse?” Minghao asks when Mingyu trails off.

“Bigger. I haven’t actually seen anything living up there, though,” Mingyu says, shaking his head. “In the attic, I mean. It sounds like footsteps sometimes.

He didn’t mention that to Soonyoung or Hansol, worried it might make him sound like he was starting to lose it. But maybe talking to your ghost hunter is like talking to a therapist.

“Does it sound like that a lot?” Minghao asks, tipping his head to the side. 

“Yeah,” Mingyu says, still embarrassed to admit it. “Like someone stomping around above me every night.”

“Anything else?” Minghao asks. Mingyu feels oddly encouraged talking to him; more comfortable than he expected to be. 

By the time he finishes going over the various woes of the house, they've finished two cups of tea, the leaves cooling at the bottom of his mug. 

“Well, I can't say for sure,” Minghao says once Mingyu has finished talking. “But it's worth looking into. I can do an investigation for you.”

“An investigation?” Mingyu asks, furrowing his brow. ”What does that mean?”

“To get a better idea of what's going on,” Minghao says, a small smile on his face. “It should only take staying a few nights.”

“Oh,” Mingyu says, heat rising up his neck. “With me, you mean?”

“You're welcome to stay too,” Minghao says, amused. 

“It's fine,” Mingyu says, shaking his head. “I mean, I'd be fine with it. If it would help.”

“I think it would,” Minghao says. He leans across the table, holding his hands out. “One more thing.”

Without thinking, Mingyu reaches out in return like he's expecting Minghao to hand him something. But Minghao has his hands open, palms upturned. Mingyu can see the shadow of a tattoo on the inside of his wrist but his sleeve covers the shape.

Minghao takes Mingyu's hands in his own. “I can read your palms.”

For a moment, Mingyu sits there with his hands in Minghao's, unsure how to respond. His heart is throbbing in his ears, beating too hard and too fast. 

His skin is soft against Mingyu's. He forgets how to speak.

“I don't think so,” Mingyu says, pulling back slowly. His mouth feels like it's full of cotton. Minghao nods, dropping his hands back to his lap. If he's troubled by Mingyu's refusal, it doesn't show on his face. 

“Okay,” Minghao says, standing up with a smile. “I'll call you next week.” 

He follows Minghao out to the door, though it would be hard to get lost in such a small house.

"Um," he says, hesitating in the doorway. "What happens if it's really…"

"Haunted?" Minghao asks. He has his eyes on Mingyu like he's trying to pry something out of him. "I can help you cleanse it."

“Okay.” Mingyu nods his head slowly along, clearing his throat. He’s yet to figure out exactly what it is about Minghao that makes him feel so off-kilter.

Minghao opens the door with a smile, another thought seeming to linger on his tongue. After a moment he just shakes his head and smiles.

“It was good to meet you.” Mingyu gets the sense that he doesn’t really mean it. “I’ll call in a day or two.”

Mingyu nods, bowing his head awkwardly as he steps out of the house. It’s begun to drizzle but Mingyu stands there for a moment after the door swings shut to wonder exactly who he just invited to stay in his home. With him. Next week.


	2. for years or for hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mingyu really wants to ask is how Minghao knows all of this.
> 
> Two months ago, in the tidy, modern apartment that he shared with Jihoon and Soonyoung, Mingyu would’ve probably laughed off the notion of ghosts. But here, out in the country, the whole world seems smaller and closer together. Things that would be impossible in the city have a much better grip on reality out here.
> 
> He’s not sure what he would do with the answer if Minghao gave him one.

The day Minghao arranges to stay at the house it's cold that even standing on the porch, the chill eats down to the bone of Mingyu’s fingers. He didn’t think to put on a heavy coat and Minghao gives him an appraising look from the door of his car.

“Aren’t you freezing?” He says the corners of his mouth pulled down in a frown.

“It’s warmer inside,” Mingyu says, though he has his shoulders scrunched up around his ears. Minghao has a duffle coat on, the toggles of it done even though he took the small road connecting the two properties. It’s not even worth the drive save for the heavy bag that Minghao pulls out of the passenger seat and loops over his shoulder.

“Do you need help?” Mingyu says, stuffing his hands in his pockets in a desperate attempt to keep the tips from falling off. Minghao shakes his head, banging the door shut with his elbow.

“It’s not as much as it looks like,” he says when Mingyu’s gaze rests for a moment too long on the bag itself. “I didn’t bring any of the big stuff.”

He sets the bag down in the entryway and Mingyu pulls the door shut behind the both of them, shutting out the cold. True to his word, it is warmer inside, though it’s not exactly _warm_. The house still has drafty spots that Mingyu hasn’t managed to plug. He doesn’t dare use the old fireplace without having someone check the chimney first.

Minghao sheds his coat, revealing a thick, soft sweater that Mingyu wants to reach out and touch. In the cramped entryway, he’s standing much closer to Minghao than he’d like to be otherwise.

There’s something off-putting about him that Mingyu can’t put his finger on— maybe the way his gaze is too sharp and lingers a little too long. He looks at things like he’s picking them apart and given enough time he'd see straight through to Mingyu’s secrets.

Mingyu shuffles out of the entryway, trying to keep out of Minghao’s way, rubbing the back of his neck. “I can um, show you the place.”

It doesn’t feel like home yet. It's like he’s giving someone a tour of a house that he doesn’t know himself yet.

They linger for a long time in the study, with Minghao looking over Mingyu’s collection of books. He runs his fingers along the shelf, a small smile on his face. Something about the motion feels strange— familiar— but Mingyu can’t put his finger on that, either.

“You work from home?” Minghao asks, looking around the room. It’s set up almost well enough to be a workspace. His books and his computer are in here, as well as a stack of notes that meant to somehow amount to his next novel. But there’s no desk— the computer and his outlines are on the floor together, beneath one of the windows.

“I’m still getting the place set up,” Mingyu says, clearing his throat.

Minghao hums, pulling himself away from the towering bookcase with a nod of his head. “You said the noise comes from the attic, right?”

Mingyu nods, leading him out of the room and to the hatch that leads up to the attic instead. He pulls the ladder down, glad when a cloud of dust doesn’t follow it. Minghao tests it once before climbing up, leaving Mingyu in the hallway with only his skinny legs.

Minghao doesn’t climb all the way into the attic. He stands on the ladder with his head and shoulders through the hatch for what seems like far too long. Even when he isn’t hearing strange sounds from it, Mingyu isn’t a big fan of the attic. The air up there feels heavy and stagnant and it’s too cold to try keeping the windows open to circulate it a little bit. 

Comfortable as the rest of the house is, there’s something about the attic that makes Mingyu feel ill at ease. Minghao climbs down after a few minutes of looking around, dusting his hands off with a tight smile on his face.

There’s a cobweb clinging to his bangs. Part of Mingyu wants to reach out and brush it away but something keeps him from it. He’s not sure Minghao would appreciate the touch and Mingyu gets the sense it’s better not to push the line with him.

Hansol didn’t exactly explain what Minghao’s job was except that he was someone who could help out with weird things. 

“Okay,” Minghao says, flicking his fingers through his hair and removing the web without help. “You haven’t spent much time out, have you?”

“Ah, I guess not,” Mingyu says, scratching the back of his head.

“The place is really clean,” Minghao says, starting down the stairs. Mingyu follows after him, though part of him feels silly for it.

“Cleaning helps me with stress,” Mingyu says.

What he thinks of is Jihoon walking in to find him halfway through the third draft of his last book. He was scrubbing the floor with furious energy and suds strewn through his hair. He’d ruined the nice designer pants he’d worn to a meeting with the publishers crawling around. He’d said the same thing when Jihoon started laughing at him.

Minghao doesn’t laugh. Instead, the look he gives Mingyu lingers a little longer than Mingyu is expecting. “From moving?”

“Among other things,” Mingyu says, keeping his voice as light as he can.

Minghao pauses in the doorway to the kitchen, leaning his head to the side. It makes Mingyu hesitate, almost missing the last step.

“You should get some plants,” Minghao says, looking around the room.

“Oh,” Mingyu says, finally stepping off the last stair, blinking several times.

“You could use some life in here,” Minghao says, a little glint in his eyes. “A succulent.”

“I wouldn’t kill it,” Mingyu says, puffing his cheeks out for a second.

“You could give me one of yours,” Mingyu says, following after Minghao when he drifts into the living room.

“From the garden?” Minghao asks, looking over his shoulder. “It’s too late in the season for them.”

“You had ones inside too,” Mingyu says, stretching his memory back. It isn’t that hard to recall— Minghao’s home left quite an impression.

“Those are carnivorous.” His tone makes it hard to tell if he’s kidding or not. After a moment, Mingyu decides probably not.  


* * *

  
After giving Minghao free reign of the house, Mingyu decides to shut himself up in his makeshift office.

He’s doing pretty much what he’s done for the last few months. Staring glumly at the still blank document and wondering if he’s going to get fired if he doesn't come up with something.

For a moment he considers giving in and calling Jeonghan but he still doesn’t know what to say about his failure. It’s easier to say nothing and try to work himself out of it. Especially after Jihoon decided to tell Jeonghan that he’d fled. Time isn't going to make Jeonghan any less irritated with him but results would make it a little bit better.

He can hear Minghao shuffling around in another room. The sound isn’t as distracting at Mingyu feared it would be— though he’s hardly getting much done to begin with. It’s comforting to hear someone else actually living in the house. Better than the sounds Mingyu hears but can’t find the source of.

It isn’t very long before Minghao wanders his way past the door and Mingyu sits up a little straighter. He’s still on the floor. His laptop placed between his spread legs and the messy stack of notes now scattered around so he can look at them better.

“Have you thought about getting a table or something?” Minghao asks, hovering in the doorway. There’s an amused smile on his face. Mingyu can feel heat creeping up the back of his neck.

“I want something that matches the bookcase,” Mingyu says, looking over at it and shaking his head. “This is fine for now.”

“Not good for your back.” Minghao clicks his tongue. 

When Mingyu doesn’t answer him for a moment, Minghao shifts like he’s going to go back to doing whatever he’s up to. But Mingyu clears his throat before Minghao walks away, chewing the corner of his lip.

“Um, before you said,” he starts, his voice ringing too loud in the bare room. It bounces off the wall and comes back to his ears even sharper than when it started. “If there was, um, a ghost. That you’d get rid of it.”

Minghao nods his head, waiting on Mingyu to continue. “I was just wondering… how.”

“There are measures you can take,” Minghao says. He passes his palm over the wood of the wall and for a moment his tone twists into something wistful. “The best thing would be to help them find peace but you can’t always do that.”

Mingyu nods, curling his hands together in his lap. There are a dozen more questions he wants to ask but he has the sense that if he asks too many at once, he won’t get any answers.

“It’s probably a benign haunting anyway,” Minghao says, shaking his head like he’s trying to clear out his thoughts. “A lot of ghosts aren’t angry. They’re lost.”

“I didn’t know there was a difference,” Mingyu says, still staring up at Minghao from his spot on the floor. “Does that make it easier to, um, deal with them?”

The whole conversation makes Mingyu feel silly. Seated on the floor, asking his very strange neighbor a series of even stranger questions about the personal life of the ghost(s) occupying the house. But Minghao seems to take each question seriously, weighing the answers before he gives them.

“I suppose,” he says after giving it a long moment of consideration. “It’s less stressful than something like a poltergeist.”

Mingyu wants to ask is how Minghao knows these things.

Two months ago, in the tidy, modern apartment that he shared with Jihoon and Soonyoung, Mingyu would’ve laughed off the notion of ghosts. But here, out in the country, the whole world seems smaller and closer together. Things that would be impossible in the city have a much better grip on reality out here.

He’s not sure what he would do with the answer if Minghao gave him one.

Mingyu clears his throat, looking down at where his hands rest in his lap. “If it’s not my family, who do you think it could be?”

The room shrinks down around them. Even though he hasn’t moved from his spot in the doorway, Minghao seems much closer than before.

“I don’t know,” Minghao says. His voice is gentle again, like when he was prodding Mingyu for information about the house over tea. “Could be someone who lived here before them, if it’s a ghost. It might be a spirit… the forest is lousy with them.”

Again, Mingyu isn’t sure if Minghao is joking with him or not. This time, he ventures a small smile. “Like a sprite? Why would they be here?”

“Maybe they were lonely,” Minghao says, his slim shoulders lifting in a shrug. “Maybe the house was.”

Slowly, Mingyu nods his head. Minghao wanders off once again to poke in the corners, leaving Mingyu alone with his work once again.  


* * *

  
For the first time in two weeks, Yoon Jeonghan calls Mingyu.

This time he does it while Mingyu is fluttering around the kitchen, trying to decide exactly what he’s supposed to do about dinner. It would be rude not to offer Minghao food, even though Minghao’s own house is the next one over, but Mingyu has no idea what Minghao likes to eat.

He’s so caught up in trying to decide what to cook that when his phone rings, he forgets to check who’s calling him and answers.

“Kim Mingyu I’m seriously going to kill you,” Jeonghan says, hissing into the call before Mingyu even gets a chance to greet him.

Panicked, Mingyu drops his phone. It clatters against the wood floor, landing face down. The sound is loud in the too quiet air of the kitchen and Mingyu cringes, hoping Minghao didn’t hear it. He leans over, groaning when he picks it up to find a long diagonal crack in the screen.

It’s just as well that he’s been avoiding using it, anyway.

“Hi,” he says, holding onto his phone tighter.

“Two months,” Jeonghan says, his voice cutting through the distance like the perfect blade of a knife. “Two months and you don’t call me once. Not even to tell me you’re fucking off to the middle of nowhere. I had to find out you moved from _Lee Jihoon_ … the least informed person in the entire world.”

“I’m sorry,” Mingyu says, leaning his back against the counter. He means it too— before Jeonghan was his agent, he was Mingyu’s friend. He was the person who pushed Mingyu to pursue writing in the first place.

That’s why he hasn’t been able to make himself answer any of Jeonghan’s calls. The idea of disappointing him makes Mingyu feel sick to his stomach.

“I’ve been meaning to call,” Mingyu says, shaking his head. “I got busy with the move and some other things.”

“Other things,” Jeonghan repeats. Under his frustration, there’s real hurt and that makes Mingyu feel worse. “Hopefully you mean the draft you’re supposed to send in next month.”

Now Mingyu wants to throw his phone on the floor for real. “Not exactly.”

Jeonghan sighs, the sound of it crackling over the line. “How far into it are you?”

Jeonghan has mastered the ability of making Mingyu feel exactly two feet tall. Even over the phone.

“I deleted the whole thing,” Mingyu says. He doesn’t want to weigh exactly what admitting that fact out loud costs him. He’s kept his failures close to the chest, hoping he could fix the problem himself.

But he’s incapable of lying to Jeonghan, even as much as he wants to now.

“All of it?” Jeonghan says, a squeak of real shock in his voice. “You’re shitting me… the whole thing?”

“Yeah,” Mingyu says, his shoulders deflating. “It wasn’t working.”

Jeonghan whistles and Mingyu can picture him leaning his head to the side— scheming the way he always does. “When did you do that?”

Of course it only takes him a moment to put the pieces together. Jeonghan has a mind like quicksilver and keeping things secret from him is nigh impossible.

“Two months ago,” Mingyu says, tapping his fingers on the counter. “I didn’t think I’d have nothing…”

“I can talk to the publisher,” Jeonghan says, quick and dismissive. “They can shuffle the dates around. I don’t think they’ve started booking the promotion tour at all yet.

Mingyu takes a moment to wonder if he could shove himself down the drain and follow the pipes all the way out to the sea.

When he decides that’s not an option, he sighs out a little too hard.

“Okay,” he says. He feels defeated… the way he’s felt every day walking away from his laptop without making any progress. 

“Keep working on it,” Jeonghan says, a little softer than before. “Y’know, Soonyoung keeps saying we should come and see you…”

Quiet as they are, Mingyu can hear Minghao’s footsteps coming down the stairs. He holds his breath, hoping he turns a different direction. He's trying to pretend that Jeonghan’s words aren’t wrapping too tight around his throat.

He misses them— of course, he does— but he isn’t finished running away yet, either.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Mingyu says, rushing his way through the words. “The place isn’t ready for visitors. I’m still trying to get everything set for winter and it’s kind of a long drive to make for the day—”

“Which one of them are you avoiding?” Jeonghan asks, cutting him off.

“It’s not like that,” Mingyu says, even though Jeonghan has seen through him already. He’s not sure which one of them it is— maybe it’s both. Maybe Mingyu is trying to avoid the way they’re in love with each other.

He doesn’t want to picture the pity on Jeonghan’s face— he can see it anyway.

“At least answer when I call you,” Jeonghan says, returning to the usual chirp of his voice. “If you don’t I will drive down there and watch you negotiate your own contracts.”

“Fine,” Mingyu says. He can’t hear Minghao wandering around anymore but that doesn’t mean all that much. He’s so light on his feet that it’s hard to keep track of him. “I’ll talk to you later. I gotta cook dinner.”

“If you’re wearing an apron you should send me a picture,” Jeonghan says. “I bet it’d be adorable.”

Mingyu is laughing when he hangs up the phone.  


* * *

  
“This is an odd place to move to,” Minghao says, helping Mingyu do the dishes. No matter how much Mingyu insisted that he didn’t need any help with the house Minghao continued ignoring him. The hot water has turned the tips of his fingers pink and wrinkled. “At your age, at least.”

“My age?” Mingyu asks, cocking his head to the side. “How old do you think I am?”

“No older than I am,” Minghao says. There’s a little bit of a grin on his face when he says it.

“Then why are you here,” Mingyu says, glancing sideways at Minghao. He put himself in charge of putting dishes away after drying them. He’s still not sure exactly where everything should go. He keeps shuffling things into different cabinets day after day, trying to find the right arrangement.

“I’ve always lived here,” Minghao says, chuckling. “I grew up a few miles away… my aunt sold me the cottage when she decided to move.”

“Why is it weird for me to move out here?” Mingyu asks, trying a different tact.

“This isn’t the kind of place people move to out of nowhere,” Minghao says. He pauses, setting the glass in his hands back in the sink and shaking the water off of them. Mingyu stops as well, standing in the middle of the kitchen with a pair of mugs dangling from his fingers. “So you must’ve had a reason.”

“I… have a lot of good memories out here,” Mingyu says, halting. “I was looking for a place to get away and it seemed like it would be good.”

Minghao nods his head. He has his back against this sink now, facing Mingyu. He opens his mouth to say something only to be interrupted by the loud sound of something very solid slamming against stone before shattering to pieces.

Mingyu jerks, almost dropping the mugs in his hands. Minghao lurches forward to catch both hands around Mingyu’s, holding onto them to keep his fingers closed. It brings the two of them much closer together than Mingyu was expecting and he jumps again.

The sound happens again— just as loud the second time— and this time Mingyu does drop one of the mugs. It shatters on the floor as well when Mingyu, out of instinct, grabs onto Minghao and pulls him in. Under his palm, he can feel the thud of Minghao’s beating heart.

“What was that?” Minghao says, his voice low in the aftermath of so much sound. He looks down at where Mingyu has an arm wrapped around his chest and his hand is still wrapped around Mingyu’s.

Mingyu is slow to pull away, stepping away from the shards of ceramic littering the floor. “I don’t know.”

The floor of the living room is covered in tiny chips of red brick, spread out in an abstract star-burst from the fireplace. Mingyu does his best to step carefully but he’s still much slower than Minghao. He ends up crouched down by the fireplace, touching the dented spots in the bottom where the bricks must’ve hit.

“Is the chimney falling down?” Mingyu asks, his voice a little higher than usual.

“I don’t think so,” Minghao says, leaning his head in until his shoulders are almost touching the brick. He's struck by how small the fireplace makes Minghao seem— his shoulders don’t quite fill the whole space of it. “I don’t think there are any bricks missing from it.”

Mingyu picks up a shard of the red stone from the floor, rolling it around in his palm.

“Oh,” he says, frowning at it. He gives the fireplace a nervous look, edging a little to the side. It’s not a good idea for Minghao to have his head shoved in there.

“I don’t know where it came from,” Minghao says after a moment, sitting back so he’s kneeling on the floor in front of the fireplace. “I’ve never seen that before.”

“I guess I should clean it up,” Mingyu says, hoping his voice doesn’t shake.  


* * *

  
Against all good sense and reason, Minghao drags a sleeping bag up the ladder and announces that he’s going to be sleeping up there. There’s a sense of cold dread in Mingyu’s stomach as soon as he says it. He stands in the middle of the hallway, looking up into the dark mouth open in the ceiling leading to the attic.

“Are you sure?” He asks, aware of the nervous shake of his own voice.

Minghao has much more experience with these things— if he thinks its safe to sleep up there, who is Mingyu to tell him otherwise?

It does little to alleviate his concern that Minghao is going to wake up to a ghost throwing a brick at his head. Minghao pauses, his fingers wrapped around one of the wooden rungs of the ladder. “About what?”

“Sleeping up there,” Mingyu says, slumping over on himself. “It seems kinda…”

He trails off, gesturing at the opening of the attic.

“It’s fine,” Minghao says, shaking his head. There’s a little smile on his face and he looks up at the opening as well. “I don’t think there’s anything that wants to hurt me.”

It seems like a lot of faith to have, especially since bricks started falling down the chimney and shattering in the living room. Mingyu wrings his hands together, not sure if he should continue fixing his gaze on the attic or on Minghao. Both options make him nervous.

“The couch is a lot comfier,” Mingyu says, aware of exactly how silly he sounds. Minghao isn’t climbing into the basement to take advantage of the luxurious accommodations it offers. 

Minghao laughs, smiling wider than Mingyu deserves for saying something stupid. “I’m sure that’s true.”

Seeing Minghao laugh puts Mingyu a little bit more at ease. He’s the expert, after all.

“Okay,” Mingyu says, relenting. “If you think it’s safe.”

“If a ghost hits me with a brick I promise I won’t haunt the place,” Minghao says. He smiles a little more— probably because Mingyu has spent the whole day failing to laugh at his jokes— and this time Mingyu smiles in return.

He hasn’t said anything about payment for this strange working sleepover and Mingyu isn’t sure if that part comes later. Maybe the sleepover is free but the process of chasing the ghosts out of the house is what costs money.

“Is this, um, your career or something?” Mingyu asks the words slipping out of his mouth without permission. Minghao blinks at him, surprised by the question. Nervous, Mingyu keeps talking. “I mean… the ghost stuff. Hansol said you were like an expert or something. I don’t really know what that means and this town is so small it can’t have _that_ many ghosts for you to deal with.”

By the time he finishes, he’s a little out of breath and Minghao is looking at him like he’s the village idiot. Maybe he is.

“It’s not exactly my job,” Minghao says, his fingers still wrapped around the ladder. Any moment he might crawl up into the attic and leave Mingyu to keep wondering. “Hansol didn’t tell you?”

“Not really,” Mingyu says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m just curious… since you’re my new neighbor and all.”

“Spiritualism is more like my family’s business, I guess,” Minghao says. He finally releases the ladder, tucking his hands in the pockets of his sweater. He changed into a bulky hoodie and loose pants for bed. It only calls more attention to how skinny he is underneath his clothes. “I do more than mess around with ghosts… people in town come to me for charms and remedies and to have their luck changed. Things like that.”

“Is it real?” Mingyu asks. He smacks his hand over his mouth immediately after, shaking his head.

This time when Minghao laughs its real. He leans forward, using the ladder to support his weight, an arm curled around his stomach. He’s delighted and as embarrassed as Mingyu is for having asked, he likes the sound of Minghao laughing.

“I’ve never had someone ask,” Minghao says, standing up straight again, a few giggles slipping past his lips still. “Yeah. It’s all real. I only do fake stuff for tourists.”

“Oh,” Mingyu says, laughing a little himself. “I didn’t know you could have a job doing that.”

Minghao shrugs, flicking his bangs out of his face. “You haven’t told me what your job is, either.”

“I’m an author,” Mingyu says. It makes heat creep up the back of his neck— he doesn’t feel like he deserves the title lately. Minghao’s eyes brighten at that, his eyebrows lifting.

“Really?” Minghao says, leaning his head to the side.

“Yes.” Mingyu puffs his cheeks out, offended.

“You don’t look nerdy enough,” Minghao says, grinning. “Maybe with some glasses I could see it. What do you write?”

“Novels,” Mingyu says, tugging at the bottom of his shirt. “I mean… I wrote two. I’m supposed to be working on the third one now.”

“You have to give me a copy, y’know,” Minghao says. “So I can see if you’re any good.”

Something in the pit of Mingyu’s stomach goes cold and hard. “I’m not sure if I have one…”

Minghao lifts his eyebrow but doesn’t seem deterred. “I guess that’s why they made libraries.”

“I guess,” Mingyu says, looking at the ladder rather than at Minghao himself.

“Well, goodnight Kim Mingyu,” Minghao says, wrapping his hand around the ladder and stepping on the lowest rung. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Okay. Goodnight,” Mingyu says. Minghao is nimble going up the ladder, his feet sure even as he pulls himself up into the darkness.

For a minute, Mingyu stands by himself in the dark hall, wondering if he should’ve offered to sleep up there as well.  


* * *

  
The house is quiet for the first time in weeks, but Mingyu still can’t sleep.

He’s having a hard time taking his mind off of Minghao sleeping a floor above him and off Jeonghan saying that Soonyoung wanted them to come to visit.

It’s hard to admit that he misses them; Jihoon and Soonyoung especially. Life with the two of them was never boring, never lonely. At least, until Soonyoung’s gentle, persistent advances finally got the better of Jihoon. 

Mingyu wasn’t expecting the way they went from being friends who’ve lived together since college to something else. Becoming a couple didn’t make Soonyoung and Jihoon forget about him, but the two of them started an entirely different relationship. One that didn’t involve Mingyu at all.

Now, at least, Mingyu is lonely because he decided to be. Rather than lonely with his two best friends under the same roof. He can nurse the cracks in his heart on his own. He can forget about watching them kiss in the bathroom right after brushing their teeth in the morning. He can forget overhearing mumbled late-night conversations when Jihoon finally climbs in bed.

Restless, Mingyu pulls himself out of bed. He drags the blanket with him into the study, settling in the spot on the floor that he’s become accustomed to. Minghao is right— he should get a desk. Or at least a chair.

The idea fills Mingyu with a weird, jittery feeling. Like he’s had one of Jihoon’s horrible triple shot espressos poured straight into the chambers of his heart. 

He doesn’t bother to turn the lights on— slumping over in front of his computer in the dark and staring at the blank page that’s haunting him as well.

He wonders if Minghao is asleep. There’s no sound coming from the attic at the moment. If it weren’t for the incident with the chimney, Mingyu would start to worry that Minghao wouldn’t believe him at all.

Mingyu isn’t sure how long he spends like that. Waiting for a brilliant idea to pop into his head and take shape on the page. It must be at least an hour, maybe more.

A shuffling sound in the hall makes him jerk upright. The darkness of the room around him grows that much deeper when he takes his eye off the screen.

“Um, hello?” Mingyu asks though the ghosts are unlikely to answer him.

“Hi,” Minghao says, appearing in the doorway. There’s a crooked smile on his face. “Why aren’t you asleep?”

“I couldn’t,” Mingyu says, hoping Minghao didn’t see the way he jumped. He can hardly be blamed— it’s past midnight in his haunted little farmhouse and he’s not used to having anyone else creeping around the halls to actually answer him.

“Are you working?” Minghao asks, hovering in the doorway still. Mingyu thinks the question over, looks at the screen, and then shakes his head.

“Why are you up?” He asks rather than answers.

A slanted smile creeps over Minghao’s face. “I couldn’t either.”

“You don’t have to stay up there,” Mingyu says, sitting up straighter. It makes the blanket fall away from his shoulders, crumpling into a soft pile on the floor. “I can sleep on the couch if you want.”

“Is one of these yours?” Minghao asks instead, crossing the threshold of the room. He goes straight to the bookcase. His hand runs over the shelf and Mingyu pushes the computer out of his lap and onto the floor, standing up.

He stands next to Minghao, picking the book out from the highest shelf. It wasn’t so long ago that he stuck in up there, not sure he could stand to look at it while he was having so much trouble already.

Minghao reaches up to take it from him, a little glitter in his eyes even in the low light of the room. “I knew you’d have it here somewhere.”

“I haven’t looked at it since the tour finished,” Mingyu admits, watching Minghao cradle the book in his hand.

“Tour?” Minghao asks, turning his gaze from the cover back to Mingyu.

“Ah, yeah,” Mingyu says, flushing a little even in the dark. “To promote it… I did a lot of interviews and readings and stuff.”

“You should read some of it for me,” Minghao says, holding the book out toward Mingyu once again.

“Now?” Mingyu asks, blinking. Minghao nods, lifting his eyebrows.

“Why not?” He asks like the whole situation is mundane. “Were you going back to bed?”

“No,” Mingyu says, answering a little more.

“There’s already a blanket in here,” Minghao says, his eyes drifting over Mingyu’s shoulder.

“I guess,” Mingyu says. He’s running out of reasons to say no. Minghao passes the book into his hands and steps around him. He takes a spot on the floor with the blanket draped over his shoulders. It leaves plenty of room for Mingyu to join him. Minghao shifts, tilting his face up expectantly when Mingyu doesn’t immediately sit.

Mingyu gives in, settling on the floor next to Minghao. He grabs the other half of the blanket to wrap around his own shoulders. It isn’t very cold, but it feels much warmer tucked under the comforter, sharing in Minghao’s warmth as well. They’re sitting as far apart as the blanket allows, but that means Minghao’s shoulder is still brushing against Mingyu’s.

“This can’t wait for morning?” Mingyu asks, making a last-ditch effort. Minghao laughs, rolling his eyes.

“Do you want me to read it instead?” He says, lifting his eyebrows. He takes the book back before Mingyu answers, stroking his fingers over the cover before opening it.

“Fine,” Mingyu says, sliding down and pressing his back against the wall with a sigh “You read it.”  


* * *

  
The first thing Mingyu notices waking up is the terrible ache in his back. He and Minghao managed to drift off to sleep sitting in the study with the comforter wrapped around them.

Minghao’s head rests against his shoulder, the book still open in his hands. It seems like he’s still asleep and Mingyu doesn’t dare move quite yet.

There’s light starting to fall across the old floorboards— it must be early in the morning. They couldn’t have been asleep more than a few hours, it was late already when Minghao found him in the study.

Mingyu stirring awake must’ve been enough to wake Minghao as well because he sits up, rubbing at his eyes.

“I can’t feel my ass,” he says, blinking his eyes. Mingyu laughs, stretching his shoulders out and trying to alleviate some of the kinks in his back.

“I don’t remember falling asleep,” Minghao says, looking over at Mingyu.

The early morning light makes his features stand out more than before. For a moment he's distracted by the way it catches in Minghao's eyes and seems to stick there.

“I don’t either,” Mingyu says, several beats late.

If he's off by the staring it doesn’t show on his face. He picks himself up off the floor with a groan, arching his back in a long stretch. It reminds Mingyu of a cat stretching out after a nap in the sun. Mingyu pushes himself up as well, gathering the blankets into his arms with a little groan.

“So much for staying in the attic,” Minghao says, a little smile on his face.

“I’d be too scared to stay up there,” Mingyu says, glancing up at the ceiling with a laugh.

In the morning light, the loose sweater swallowing up his frame and his hair ruffled on one side from sleeping, Minghao is much less intimidating. He’s soft around the edges— less distant than he seemed from the start. He begins to look much more like a boy Mingyu’s own age and less like the village witch. He gets the feeling that Minghao was a little scared to stay up there, too.

“I should do something about breakfast, I guess,” Mingyu says, adjusting the blanket in his grasp to carry it back into his room.

Minghao, trying to encourage his hair to lay flat once again, pauses to shake his head. “You don’t need to cook another meal for me.”

Usually, Mingyu would argue that Minghao, no matter what he’s in the house for, is a _guest_ and it’s definitely up to him to cook something. But he also thinks about Minghao standing next to him doing dishes the night before— the way it’d felt easy and comfortable.

“How about you help me, then?” He says, squeezing the comforter a little bit tighter. “That way I’m not feeding you.”

“Alright,” Minghao says, nodding his head. There’s a growing smile on his face and he turns to set the book back on the shelf. This time it’s much lower, laying flat on its side with the spine facing out. He steps past Mingyu in the doorway, bumping their shoulders together. “I want a signed copy of that, too.”

Mingyu’s neck flushes crimson and he hesitates, watching Minghao go down the stairs, trying to restrain the grin that wants to climb across his face.

He fails— when he goes downstairs a moment later to join Minghao, he’s still smiling like a fool.


	3. no grave could hold my body down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I like it out here,” Mingyu says, taking it all in.
> 
> “Do you?” Minghao asks, real curiosity in his voice. “I was worried now that you have the place in order you were going to flip it or something.”
> 
> Mingyu isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do now.

Minghao, in the end, leaves him with a carefully tied bag of sweet-smelling herbs tucked into the corner of the attic. He stays one more night and this time as far as Mingyu could tell he really does stay up there and then leaves early in the morning before Mingyu even sees him.

All of this makes sense— it’s exactly what Mingyu was expecting him to do. But somehow Minghao leaves the empty space of he house yawning open behind him. Before, the peace of the house didn’t trouble Mingyu. He missed Jihoon and Soonyoung, of course, but he was starting to adjust to it.

But with him gone, Mingyu feels like he’s freshly by himself. The boards of the farmhouse start to ache with it. He finds himself texting Soonyoung aimlessly; long, wandering conversations that avoid getting too close to anything. The problem is Minghao isn’t even really his friend. They’ve known each other for all of a weekend and Minghao was working, or at least doing something like it. Mingyu doesn’t know what that makes them, but it isn’t friends.

Even though they’re neighbors. Even though Mingyu has Minghao’s phone number. Even though when they cooked breakfast together it felt like… something.

Late in the evening, Mingyu finds himself leaning on his toes to peer out the kitchen window, staring down the thin strip of open road that connects their homes. He can see the lights in Minghao’s little cottage turned on, even with the fuzzy gray clouds blanketing the sky.

He wonders if Minghao has eaten yet, looking back at the soup sitting on the flame, just starting to thicken. He has plenty to share but it would be weird to ask. Minghao stayed over two weeks ago and Mingyu hasn’t been able to come up with a reason to talk to him again.

Silly as it is, he’s wondering if he can fake another haunting to get Minghao to come over again. Or come up with some other kind of problem that it would take a witch to fix. But he hasn’t come up with anything yet and he doesn’t think it’s the kind of question that he could take to Jihoon or Soonyoung.

Mingyu glances at the bright lights of Minghao’s window again and heaves a sigh before turning back to his soup.  


* * *

  
Winter starts to stretch its fingers slowly over the forest. The leaves go from brilliant orange to brown, gathering on the ground and in Mingyu’s expansive lawn.

He’s struggling to drag them into a pile when Minghao’s battered jeep rolls its way up the drive. The crunch of tires on gravel makes him lift his head, leaning his weight on the rake. He’s doing his best not to grin like a fool but probably failing at it.

Minghao’s window rolls down and he leans out, waving his arm with a bright smile. “Do you still need a desk?”

“Um,” Mingyu says, looking back at the house. He hasn’t finished the office in the few weeks it’s been since he saw Minghao. He’s been driving to different coffee shops in town to try writing there instead. So far all it’s done is severely increase his caffeine intake and fail to result in any new progress.

“I don’t have one,” Mingyu says, shaking his head.

“I know someone getting rid of one.” He taps his fingers against the door of the jeep, cocking his head to the side. “Get in.”

“Right now?” Mingyu asks, fumbling a little with the rake in his hands.

“It’s vintage. You’ll like it.”

Mingyu drags the rake over to lean up against the house before he gives in and climbs into the passenger side of Minghao’s car.

He has low folk music playing inside— Mingyu doesn’t recognize the song but it sounds like the kind of music his dad used to play in his study. It’s familiar and relaxing, the same as Minghao’s steady driving.

They end up several miles from any part of town that Mingyu’s familiar with and if Minghao hadn’t already invested his time in keeping Mingyu alive, he might be worried about it. The place they pull up to looks like any of the other small farmhouses that they’ve passed, though this one has a young woman sitting on the porch. She has delicate features and definitely looks too slim to have carried the ancient wooden roll-top desk sitting in front of her out on the lawn.

“Kyulkyung,” Minghao says, waving as he climbs out of the jeep. Mingyu follows after him, a little quieter. Kyulkyung hops up to her feet, her fingers flicking through the long, dark waves of her hair. “Anyone buy it yet?”

“You said you wanted it.” She narrows her eyes in Minghao’s direction. When she notices Mingyu, however, she smiles.

“You’re new,” she says, flicking her eyes over Mingyu quickly. He’s gotten used to hearing that— apparently it really is a novelty in the area. Minghao muffles a laugh behind his hand, patting Mingyu’s shoulder.

“Desk is for him.” His hand lingers for a moment on Mingyu’s shoulder, the warmth of his palm seeping through the sweater. It’s not cold enough for Mingyu to wish he had a jacket but the contact makes him shiver anyway. “He moved in next door.”

“The haunted place.” Apparently, the whole town already knew about the problem before Mingyu did. He wonders if that kind of superstition is more common out here than in the city. He told Jihoon about Minghao getting rid of the ghosts for him and Jihoon laughed himself to tears.

“Not anymore,” Minghao says, a touch pleased with himself.

“Don’t let him off too easy,” Kyulkyung says, facing Mingyu now. “He’s just like a handyman… he’ll tell you he fixed it and have to come back three more times.”

Mingyu wouldn’t mind if Minghao came back a little more. “I’ll keep an eye out for any more ghosts.”

“I brought you all this way to get you a desk,” Minghao says, tilting his chin up to look at Mingyu. “The least you can do is swear by the quality of my work.”

“I haven’t been woken up at all.” He doesn’t sound really put out, but Mingyu rushes to fill the space with compliments anyway. “Really! I think all the ghosts are um, gone now.”

Minghao smiles a tinge of pink at the tips of his ears. He’s still looking up at Mingyu and he opens his mouth slowly to say something else.

“So are you taking the desk or not?” Kyulkyung asks, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t have anyone to help carry it back inside.”

It takes Mingyu a moment to realize the question is really just for him. Minghao doesn’t need a desk, after all— Mingyu does.

“I don’t know.” He’s trying to tamp down the well of anxiety that opens up in his stomach without any real success. “I’m not sure it really, um, matches. With the rest of the room. And it might not fit the space that I have very well.”

He rattles each reason off like gunfire— too loud and too fast. Minghao turns toward him, his lips parted in confusion. Something on Mingyu’s face must give him away because Minghao’s expression softens a moment later.

“I’ll take it,” Minghao says, stretching one long arm behind him to dig his pocket out of his wallet.

Kyulkyung passes a glance over the two of them, considering. She doesn’t turn Minghao down and the two of them don’t haggle over the price. Minghao counts out a few bills and puts them in one of her delicate hands.

She counts them, nods then looks to Mingyu again.

“You two can haul it, right?” She asks, losing interest in whatever it is she was looking for. Maybe a reason for Mingyu’s bizarre spike in nerves. Or perhaps she’s just wondering why Minghao is buying a desk he doesn’t need— Mingyu would like to know the answer to that too.

Minghao assures her they’ll be able to take care of it and Kyulkyung drives back inside, tossing the dark waves of her hair back over her shoulder.

Mingyu stuffs both hands into his pockets, watching Minghao flip down the seats of his car.

“I’ll give you the money for it.” It takes him a while to come out with it.

Minghao looks over his shoulder, a slice of a grin visible. “Are you trying to buy it off of me?”

“I was supposed to be the one buying it.” Mingyu rocks back on his heels, scowling at the polished wood.

Minghao stands up slowly, pulling his hair into a loose tail at the back of his head and tying it there with the thin band he had around his wrist. Mingyu watches each movement; taking note of them.

“You decided not to.” Minghao crosses his arms over his chest. “So I got it.”

Mingyu isn’t sure how to respond to that so he looks in the other direction, pulling his hands from his pockets slowly.

“You’re sure we can lift that?” He asks, tipping his head slightly to the side. Minghao laughs, patting Mingyu’s shoulder lightly as he goes by.

“It’s not gonna be that bad. Minghao goes around Mingyu and stands at the other end. He tests his grip of the edge where there’s barely a few inches of space for his fingertips to hook onto. He pulls upward but the desk doesn’t move. It’s carving an impression in the soft grass of Kyulkyung’s lawn.

Mingyu muffles his laughter the best he can, burying it in his sleeve. Minghao catches him, shooting him an unimpressed glare and gesturing at the other side of the desk.

“You’re gonna have to do all the work,” Minghao says, gripping onto the desk again.  


* * *

  
Somehow, the two of them manage to get the desk into Minghao’s jeep, then out again and into the weathered shed out behind his small house. They skirt around the edge of the garden. There’s a mottled layer of leaves covering the tidy rows so Mingyu can’t make out what he might’ve had planted there.

He wants to thank Minghao for buying the desk. It seems silly to, especially since he doesn’t seem willing to admit the purchased it for any other reason than putting it away in the shed. He’s about to make the short walk along the lane that connects their home, peeling away from Minghao’s side with a weak smile.

“Are you busy now?” Minghao asks, one hand on his hip.

Mingyu stops, turning slowly to face him. He thinks about the rake, probably fallen over into the pile of leaves on the ground.

“No.” He shakes his head. “Why?”

“I’ll make lunch.” Minghao cocks his head toward the door. “If you’re hungry.” 

The hair he tied up before they started hauling furniture around has started to escape from the back of his head, falling forward to frame his face. Like this, Mingyu can see the subtle points at the tips of his ears. He almost wants to reach his fingers out and run them over the curve of his ear.

“Okay.” He follows along when Minghao walks inside, ducking through the low doorway. He narrowly missed hitting his head on it last time, and this time he barely remembers in time to be more careful.

“You can sit.” Minghao taps his fingers on a seat at his small table, set just outside the kitchen itself. The place is too small to have a dedicated dining room, after all.

Last time he was in Minghao’s house, he was too stunned by the scope and strangeness of it to really take in all the details. But sitting in Minghao’s kitchen and watching him make grilled cheese, Mingyu counts twenty-seven chunks of crystal displayed in different parts of the room. There are dried plants hanging along strings that criss-cross the kitchen and some are still shedding petals onto the wooden floors.

The only other thing that Minghao seems to surround himself with is books. There are so many that Mingyu couldn’t hope to count them all. He doubts Minghao even knows how many are in the kitchen and living room. 

The one bookcase he can see has every shelf stacked four volumes deep. It’s beginning to bow under the weight. He knows that Minghao has the regular modern amenities too; a laptop half hidden by a blanket on the couch and a cell phone.

When Jihoon finally squeezed the name out of him to google Minghao, he found that Minghao has a degree in fine arts and makes most of his money as a freelance graphic designer. The mundane knowledge delights Mingyu, just like the mole he can see on the back of Minghao’s neck when he leans over the pan.

There is an air of mystery to Minghao that Mingyu wants to peel away.

It only takes a few minutes for Minghao to set a simple, improvised meal down on the table for both of them. It takes Mingyu a moment to notice, engrossed in squinting at the titles of the stack of books sitting precariously on the edge of the counter.

“You must read a lot.” Mingyu immediately regrets opening his mouth at all if that’s the only thing he manages to come up with.

Minghao looks around the room and laughs. “It’s actually kindling. I was thinking of burning the place down for the insurance money.”

“Well, I think you have enough for that.” Mingyu laughs along with him.

“I still need copies of your books.” Minghao turns back to him, his eyes bright. “Signed, of course.”

There’s a little stab of nerves in the center of Mingyu’s stomach.

“I’ll have to um.” Mingyu is floundering for something of a decent excuse. “Ask my agent for copies.”

Minghao fixes him with a look. He nudges his plate to the side, holding both his hands out, palms upturned.

“I’ll trade you.” He keeps his gaze leveled on Mingyu’s. “The books for a palm reading.”

The first time he asked, Mingyu was too scared to take him up on the offer. They were seated in the same chairs, facing each other just the same, but today Minghao seems like a different person entirely.

Mingyu reaches out and puts his hand in Minghao’s, still tentative. The touch makes his skin tingle— the weeks of solitude since he moved out to the country made him forget about the delight of having other people touch him.

Minghao smiles, dropping his eyes to Mingyu’s upturned hand instead. He has one hand around the back of Mingyu’s, unfurling his fingers. The other traces the lines of his palm, leaning in closer to study them.

“It’d be easier with my glasses,” Minghao says, glancing up with a smile.

Mingyu is half expecting him to get up and go get them but he doesn’t move. Instead, he traces the very tips of his fingers along Mingyu’s palm, up his middle finger. It’s a funny, ticklish feeling that has Mingyu suppressing a shiver.

“You have metal hands.” Minghao’s fingers travel back down his palm, this time following the line that travels just beneath each of his fingers.

“What does that mean?” Mingyu asks when Minghao doesn’t stop his examination to explain.

“You like to play fair.” Minghao looks up at him again, the stroke of his thumb along Mingyu’s almost like a caress. “And you like doing well. Practical.” Here Minghao pauses and grins. “Too much, sometimes. You think too hard.”

The last addition is familiar, unrehearsed. Mingyu’s stomach flips.

“This is your headline.” He traces the middle line of Mingyu’s palm, skipping over the gap in the middle of it. “Not very long but it has a good curve to it.”

Mingyu hums as if he picks up on the meaning of it at all.

“A little impulsive,” Minghao says, his head leaning slightly to the side. “But you’re creative and you like to get along with people… being an author is a good fit for that.”

“You have a lot of energy.” Minghao moves on to tracing the curving line at the bend of his thumb. “Do you get sick a lot?”

“No.” Mingyu leans forward, trying to pick out exactly what it is Minghao is seeing. Minghao glances up, shaking his head before pushing Mingyu back into his seat.

“You’re blocking the light,” he says, laughing softly. “Relax.”

Mingyu does his best to, though Minghao touching his hand doesn’t make it easy. He’s hoping that Minghao can’t feel the pounding of his heart in the tips of his fingers. If he can, it doesn’t show on his face. Maybe that’s a normal part of palm reading.

“Is that, um, all of it?” Mingyu asks, his fingers twitching in Minghao’s soft grasp.

“Does this make you nervous?” Minghao counters, still studying Mingyu’s hand. “You turned me down when I offered the first time.”

The first time Minghao offered to read his palm, Mingyu didn’t believe he’d actually be able to tell anything from it. But the more time he spends with Minghao, the more he starts to believe that it’s all real. There’s something about him— an aura, the way the world reacts to him— that makes _magic_ the only plausible answer.

He was nervous about Minghao holding his hand at the time too.

“It’s fine.” Mingyu shakes his head. He hazards a quick, shaky smile.

“Your ears are red.” His voice stays light, conversational. Mingyu can feel the heat of them and he reaches his free hand up to try and cover one of them.

“The last one is your love line.” Minghao traces it, the uppermost line of Mingyu’s palm. Mingyu’s heart does a flip in his chest, a jolt that makes it all the way down to his hand still in Minghao’s grasp.

“How much can you tell from all this?” Mingyu asks, voice slightly strained. He’s got far too much nervous energy for someone being touched so little. That makes it worse, somehow. The feather touch of Minghao’s fingers isn’t enough to soothe the craving that it elicits. Mingyu wants more and is embarrassed to want more at the same time.

“It’s not about predicting the future,” Minghao says. Mingyu’s curiosity makes him smile. “But it’s good for understanding more about yourself. Your personality.”

“So you can’t tell when I’m gonna get married?” Mingyu asks, trying to lessen the tension in his chest.

“Not from this.” Minghao leans his head to the side, his gaze sweeping over Mingyu. “I might be able to find another way to tell that if you’re curious.”

It only takes a few seconds for laughter to bubble up on Minghao’s lips and for a moment Mingyu is so charmed by the sound of it that he forgets the joke was made at his expense.

“Y’know, most people want to know when they’re gonna die.” Minghao hasn’t let go of his hand. He’s toying with Mingyu’s fingers in an idle way.

“That’s morbid.” The thought makes Mingyu wrinkle his nose. “Have you ever done it?”

Minghao takes a moment to think the question over. “I’ve never wanted to try.” 

Carefully, reluctantly, their hands separate. Mingyu misses the touch for the rest of the day.  


* * *

  
In an effort to avoid being scolded for _still_ not having his little office set up, Mingyu drags his laptop out to the tidy living room before he calls Jihoon.

It’s late enough in the evening that he’s either going to be finished with work or too engrossed to even notice the notification of Mingyu calling him. He could’ve called Soonyoung, he’s much less likely to be busy, but the two of them have been on strange ground lately.

Jihoon actually does answer, scrubbing his sleeve into one of his eyes. The room around him is dark, the screen the only light cast on Jihoon’s face. His hair is standing up in every direction, a bottle-blond halo around his face. Mingyu can’t help but laugh, leaning in toward the screen.

“You look so cute,” he says, cooing at the screen. Jihoon shoots him a positively evil glare in response. He drags himself out of the blankets slowly, flailing around at the side until he manages to flip the light on and find his glasses.

“You don’t,” Jihoon says, squinting at the screen. “Are you ever gonna get a haircut again?”

Mingyu tugs at his overgrown bangs, laughing again. “Eventually. I kinda forgot about it. Were you sleeping?”

“Kinda.” Jihoon shrugs, covering his mouth when he yawns. 

“When’s the last time you ate?” Mingyu asks, catching himself frowning. The look on Jihoon’s face gets caught between contempt and amusement.

“What’re you gonna do? Drive back here and feed me?”

They had plenty of nights like this when they still lived together— when Jihoon was moody and stressed and Mingyu couldn’t keep down the instinct to try and take care of him. There’s a little barb to his words. Mingyu does his best not to dwell on it. Jihoon can be sharp without meaning anything by it.

If he was there he would be the one dragging Jihoon out of bed and at least getting some nutrition into him.

But he’s not there. “Where’s Soonyoung?”

“Don’t know,” Jihoon says, using his fingers to try and comb his hair back into order. “He was gone when I fell asleep.”

He didn’t realize until now how much he missed the two of them. This is the longest he’s gone without really seeing them since the three of them met. He wants to be the one smoothing his hands through Jihoon’s hair. He’s always a little clingy when he’s tired— he used to stand in the kitchen and lean his cheek against Mingyu while Mingyu was cooking for them.

In the background, Mingyu can see where the other half of the bed is also messy and unmade. Soonyoung used to leave Mingyu’s bed the same way whenever he decided to sleep in there, no matter how much Mingyu whined about it later.

He’s been settling into the house— finding a routine, making friends with Hansol and Minghao, enjoying the quiet. But it still feels empty compared to the cluttered apartment he shared with Jihoon and Soonyoung.

“You should get something to eat.” Mingyu scratches the back of his neck, wrestling all his tangled feelings back into place. If he started unloading them on Jihoon right now, he would probably just shut off the call.

“Your place looks better,” Jihoon says, leaning in and squinting at the screen. “This room even has furniture in it.”

“They all have furniture in them.” Mingyu puffs his cheeks out, running his hand over the ugly floral fabric of the couch.

“I wanna see the painting.”

Mingyu’s webcam only shows a small corner of it, hanging over the fireplace that he still doesn’t dare use. There have been no more bricks dropped from it, but once or twice he could hear music drifting down from the chimney.

He stands up, holding his laptop so Jihoon can take in the whole thing. It was a lucky find, actually. Minghao took him out to the county flea market the next town over, as well as breakfast at a greasy spoon diner.

“Huh,” Jihoon says, pulling his hood up over his head. “Who picked that out?”

“Ah, a friend of mine.” Mingyu settles back on the couch, a little smile on his face. “My neighbor.”

“The witch guy?” Jihoon asks, a scowl on his face.

Before Mingyu answers, the door to the bedroom swings open, casting a swath of light across the dark room.

“Who’re you talking to?” Soonyoung asks. Mingyu can’t see him but the voice is impossible to mistake. Jihoon adjusts his glasses, tucking his legs underneath him.

“Mingyu,” he says, patting the bed next to him.

For a few unmistakable beats, Soonyoung hesitates. He climbs on the bed next to Jihoon, wrapping both arms around his waist and squeezing until Jihoon grunts in protest and shoves back against him. He squishes his cheek against Jihoon’s shoulder. It takes him another moment to make eye contact with the camera, a fleeting smile crossing his face.

“Yah, you don’t call us enough,” Soonyoung says, adopting the old lady voice he uses for his skits with Seokmin. “You’re so quick to forget about your poor family.”

“I’m not part of this.” Jihoon scoffs in faked disgust and Soonyoung laughs, kissing the corner of his mouth.

“Sorry.” Real guilt creeps into Mingyu’s tone. “The house needed more help than I thought.”

“So did the witch get rid of your ghosts?” Soonyoung asks, his fingers creeping under Jihoon’s sweater. Jihoon isn’t trying to struggle away anymore, settled into Soonyoung’s arms like a cat gone limp.

“He bought Mingyu a painting,” Jihoon says, rolling his eyes.

“Is that what keeps the ghosts out?” Soonyoung asks, grinning now.

“He didn’t buy the painting.” Mingyu doesn’t bring up the desk. “He just… pointed it out.”

“So, you guys are friends?” Soonyoung fluffs his fingers through Jihoon’s hair, making a mess out of it again.

“Yeah.” Mingyu’s mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. “Something like that.”

“Are you inviting us out to see you yet?” Soonyoung asks. He asks the same thing every time Mingyu calls. At this point, Mingyu doesn’t have an excuse anymore. The house is looking better— lived in but still neat. It’s less haunted. He has friends for them to meet and knows a few places they might even like visiting.

But it still feels strange and Mingyu curls his hand into a fist in his lap.

“Soon.” It’s too meek to really be called a promise but Soonyoung sits up straighter anyway.

“Next month,” he says, leaning more of his weight on Jihoon’s shoulders. Jihoon grunts squished down a little in place.

Mingyu hesitates, biting the inside of his cheek. “That soon?”

“Yeah.” Soonyoung puffs his cheeks out, brows settled low and defiant on his face. “I don’t care if there are ghosts or witches or if you haven’t washed your socks. We’re coming to see you next month.”

“Okay,” Mingyu says, though he’s not sure Soonyoung is exactly waiting on him to agree. “Next month.”  


* * *

  
With the weather promising sun all weekend long, Mingyu thought it might finally be a good time to clean off the balcony. It’s the one part of the house that he hasn’t been able to reach— there isn’t a ladder on the property. Or at least, there isn’t one that Mingyu would trust with his weight.

So, he ends up asking Hansol to bring one over in his battered little truck. He shows up as soon as dark clouds start rolling over the sky, threatening the whole endeavor with rain.

Hansol hops out of the cab with a grin, waving both hands. He’s wearing a tie-dyed hoodie, though Mingyu thinks that’s what Hansol has worn every day since the two of them met.

“Are you really getting up there?” Hansol asks, stopping in the yard to stare at the little offshoot balcony. It looks to be sturdy enough. All the supports are still fastened securely to the rest of the house, at least. From what he can see, it isn’t rotten.

“There’s no door to it,” Mingyu says, shrugging his shoulders. “And I wanna get the leaves and stuff off there.”

It takes the two of them a few minutes to unload the ladder and lean it up against the house. It falls a few feet short of the balcony, meaning Mingyu will have to pull himself from one to the other. The thought makes his stomach turn.

“Don’t think we can make it any taller.” Hansol scratches the back of his neck, laughing a little. “At least you got a long reach, I guess.”

All the movement must’ve caught Minghao’s attention— Mingyu can see him coming down the small connecting road and he stops contemplating how he’s bound to fall to his death long enough to wave.

“I’m worried about what you’re doing.” Minghao has a dark apron tied to his front still, flour in long streaks across it. He looks surprised to see Hansol— maybe from his window he could only make out the movement, not the two of them moving things around. The sight makes him pause, stopping to untie the apron and remove it, draping it over the railing of the porch.

“I’m gonna clean the balcony.” Mingyu has the broom he plans on bringing up in his hand. Minghao looks at it, then at the precarious ladder behind him.

“You’re climbing up there?” Minghao scowls a little. “On that thing?”

“Dad said it’s a good ladder,” Hansol says. He’s sitting on the steps, stretched out in the weak rays of the sun.

“It’s too short.” Minghao sighs. Hansol grins at him.

“He’s tall.”

“I won’t fall,” Mingyu says, trying to sound reassuring. He must fail because Minghao turns to look at him with a tight line formed between his brows.

“I’ll hold it steady,” Minghao says finally. He reaches out to take the broom from Mingyu’s hand, shaking his head. “And I’ll bring this up to you.”

“Okay.” Mingyu takes a few wary steps toward the ladder. Minghao follows right behind him, putting out a hand to steady it when Mingyu steps on the first rung. It sinks slightly further into the dirt but doesn’t rock.

Minghao’s hand finds the small of his back anyway. “Steady?”

“Yeah.” Mingyu smiles at him before pulling himself up the next step. Minghao’s hand falls away from his back, reaching out to make sure the ladder stays in place behind him.

Mingyu makes himself scramble up to the top without looking back down. When he makes it there, he takes a second to breathe and try to judge the distance between the top of the ladder and the balcony itself.

Hansol is standing a few feet away from the base of the ladder, a splash of color against Mingyu’s green lawn. Mingyu steps onto the top reluctantly, reaching both hands out to grasp the railing of the balcony.

Thankfully, the old wood holds rather than going to pieces in his hands. He gives the whole thing a tentative shake, pleased when nothing wiggles or threatens to give way. Carefully, he negotiates his feet onto the platform of the balcony before swinging himself up over the railing.

On the side of the house, impossible to see from the ground, is the old outline where a door must have been. It’s painted over now, only the faint crease where the paint had to settle a little deeper is visible now. Mingyu edges toward it, still unsure of his footing on the balcony, feeling across the surface for a handle.

There doesn’t seem to be one— not even the gap where one used to be.

The sound of the ladder moving behind him makes Mingyu whip around, scared he’ll see it falling to the ground and stranding him here. But a moment later, Minghao’s head pops over the top. He has the broom in his hand and Mingyu reaches out to take it, pulling it through the gap in the rails. Minghao looks at the gap for a moment before pulling himself up to the top.

When he reaches out for the railing the same way Mingyu did, Mingyu catches his hand. He keeps his grip tight, smiling at the relief on Minghao’s face.

“It’s sturdy,” he says, clearing his throat. “You can come up.”

Minghao steps across the open air and onto the edge of the balcony. He’s much more graceful getting over the rail than Mingyu was but Mingyu still holds his hand the whole time. When Minghao shuffles his feet slightly to correct his balance, Mingyu reaches his other hand out as well, dropping the broom to hold his hip.

“I’m alright,” Minghao says, a grin on his face. “I don’t think it’s gonna come down.”

Mingyu laughs, heat creeping up his ears. “Sorry.”

He bends over to pick up the broom, clearing his throat. “They painted the door over.”

“They did?” Minghao steps around him to see. He runs his fingers over the crease in the paint. “Weird.”

“I never found one inside,” Mingyu says, shaking his head. “Did you?”

“Nothing.” Minghao leans his head to the side, shaking his head. “Who knows what happened to it.”

He takes his time sweeping the leaves off the balcony, the two of them constantly shuffling around. Minghao laughs after awhile, tugging his shirt and shaking his head. “Sit for a minute.”

He sits down first, sticking his legs through the gaps and reaching up for Mingyu’s hand. Mingyu sits down next to him, taking the same position. Once he’s settled, Minghao still holds onto his hand, lacing their fingers together.

“It’s got a nice view.” The balcony faces out over the unbroken stretch of forest, the branches reaching up like bare, gnarled fingers. Beyond that is the ridge of a nearby hill, dotted with evergreens. The clouds are thick in the sky now.

“I like it out here,” Mingyu says, taking it all in.

“Do you?” Minghao asks, real curiosity in his voice. “I was worried now that you have the place in order you were going to flip it or something.”

Mingyu isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do now.

Back in the city, part of his life is still packed up in boxes and hastily stuffed into storage. Part of his life is left in Jihoon and Soonyoung’s apartment, bickering over who should be the one doing the dishes.

But part of him is here now, holding onto Minghao’s hand and watching a storm gathering on the horizon.

“I’m not gonna sell the house.” Mingyu’s thumb follows Minghao’s index finger. “I wanna stay. At least until I get this book done.”

Who knows how long that could take? Mingyu still hasn’t written a word he’s willing to use. He turns away from the view to look at Minghao only to find Minghao’s attention already on him.

“Really?” Minghao asks something dark and hard to parse in his eyes.

Mingyu nods and the distance between them shrinks down to nothing even though he doesn’t recall moving any closer. Minghao’s free hand cups around the side of his face. He smells a little bit like fresh bread and Mingyu wonders if that’s why he was covered in flour to begin with.

Minghao kisses him and the whirlwind of his thoughts goes quiet. The whole world comes to a halt. All Mingyu has to do is kiss Minghao back. He keeps going until Hansol starts laughing.

He seems far beneath them in the lawn, both hands covering his eyes as he looks straight up at the two of them.

“Finally.” He’s loud enough for both of them to hear and Minghao laughs, burying his face against the crook of Mingyu’s neck.  


* * *

  
When he walks into the kitchen in the morning there are three skeleton keys laying perfectly in the center of the table. They’re crossed almost at the tip and spread apart in three directions like a fork in the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i swear i did not forget about this little gem i just got swallowed up by deadlines


	4. when i'm reborn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There’s something you need to do,” Minghao says, fingers curled around the nape of his neck. “Unfinished business.”
> 
> “I thought that’s what ghosts had,” Mingyu says. He tightens his grasp around Minghao, feeling the beat of his heart and rise of his breath.
> 
> “We’ve all got unfinished business.” He tilts his head, trying to catch Mingyu’s gaze. “You have things to put to rest.”

It isn't like Minghao is asking him out on dates every Thursday night. In fact, as far as Mingyu is aware, Minghao has never asked him out. The most formal plan they ever made was for Minghao to check the attic for ghosts.

But Minghao manages to always be around somehow. He invites Mingyu over for dinner before Mingyu was going to cook for himself. He shows up with someplace they have to check out on his mind. It's easy to mold his schedule around Minghao's whims. It isn't as if there are any commitments on his time to keep him from it.

After they kiss, Minghao remains much the same. He comes and goes with no schedule or announcement. Mingyu is still always happy to see him. 

Except, now when he slips in through the front door, he pulls Mingyu away from the counter by the back of his shirt. Mingyu stumbles along with him, turning around before he falls. There's flour on his hands, pasta dough laying on the counter.

"Hi." Mingyu holds his hands out to the side. He's doing his best not to brush his hands over the thick fabric of Minghao's sweater. "Did you walk over?"

"Can't drive." He angles his head to the side, shuffling a step closer and pulling Mingyu in as well. The path connecting their houses is choked with snow. a thick layer blankets the whole front yard, almost up to the tops of the old fence posts.

The walk explains the chill he can feel in Minghao's fingertips. He reaches down and closes his hands around Minghao's, trying to press some heat back into them.

Minghao looks down at their hands and starts laughing, his shoulders bouncing up and down. Mingyu blinks, dropping his gaze as well. It’s only then that he realizes he’s getting flour all over Minghao’s hands as well.

"Sorry!" He yelps, letting go of Minghao's hands. Minghao is still laughing. He reaches forward, dusting his hands off roughly with the front of Mingyu's apron. It pulls Mingyu in a step closer and when he finishes, Minghao tugs the apron down, drawing Mingyu in for a kiss.

More mindful of his hands this time, Mingyu doesn't cup the back of Minghao's head when they kiss the way he wants to. Minghao releases him after a moment, looking at the flour-dusted surface of Mingyu's counter.

"Dinner?" He asks, one hand lingering on Mingyu's hip.

"I was gonna make pasta." He hopes Minghao doesn't notice the flush on the back of his neck. It's not the kind of meal that he would usually make for himself.

Minghao steps around him, pushing the heavy sleeves of his sweater up around his elbows.

"I'll make a sauce," he says, bumping his hip against Mingyu's as he goes by. He's already familiar with Mingyu's kitchen.

He picks through Mingyu's fridge, grabbing out what he wants without a word. It feels altogether too comfortable. Minghao standing at the counter next to him and dicing an onion. He hums along to the soft jazz Mingyu has playing from a speaker.

Mingyu didn't expect to feel so settled in this house. When he first started moving things in he didn't think he'd stay for more than a few weeks before getting bored and going back home. The little town offers a serenity that Mingyu hasn't experienced anywhere else.

Stranger still, for a house full of ghosts with a witch living next door.

"We should move that desk in here," Mingyu says, focused on his hands working the dough into shape.

Soonyoung's mother bought him a pasta machine for Christmas a few years ago. But it's one of the things that Mingyu shoved into storage, certain he wouldn't need it out in the country.

"Should we?" Minghao asks, his lips curling into a smile. "Are you tired of sitting on the floor already?"

"I've been using the table." Mingyu laughs, nodding at where his laptop is laying at the edge of the small kitchen table. Almost hidden under a messy stack of paper. "But I thought you might want your shed back."

"The family of groundhogs I had to evict to make room would appreciate it."

"Tomorrow?" Mingyu asks. It doesn't matter. There is no deadline. But he likes the promise of seeing Minghao.

"Sure," Minghao says, his attention once more on the knife in his hands. "In the morning."

"It's a date." As much as it can be.  


* * *

  
In spite of the thick layer of snow on the ground, they don't have that much trouble getting the desk into Minghao's car or up to the door.

From there it's a tall task. By the time they get the desk to the top of the stairs, Mingyu is sweating. The cold air drifting in through the open door doesn't help. It only makes the sweat gathered on his neck and at the small of his back feel like ice.

Minghao looks no worse for the wear. There's a pink flush on his cheeks and he's as out of breath as Mingyu but he hardly seems to have a hair out of place.

"I forgot how heavy it is," Minghao says, leaning his palms on the surface and huffing out a laugh. “Surprised we got it up here.”

“Thanks,” Mingyu says, standing upright. He rubs the edge of his shirt over his face, doing his best to get rid of the sweat. So, he isn’t prepared for the touch of Minghao’s cold fingers on his hip. He jumps, dropping his shirt and yelping a little in surprise. Minghao is closer than he expects, leaning in to steal a kiss as soon as the fabric isn’t in his way.

Mingyu almost loses his balance, holding onto Minghao’s arm above his elbow. Minghao laughs, holding on tight in return. He keeps Mingyu from falling back against the desk. When Mingyu regains his footing, Minghao advances a step closer. Mingyu backs up in return, ending up with his back pressed into the hardwood of the desk.

He breathes in a shallow breath, hyper-aware of the warmth of Minghao’s body, the way sweat is making his shirt stick to his skin. This isn't the closest he’s ever been to Minghao, but it’s still closer than he’s expecting. 

“Don’t freak out,” Minghao says, amused. Mingyu nods his head in return, wishing he could stop the prickle of goosebumps on his skin. Minghao rises up onto his toes and Mingyu tips his head down in return, making it easier to reach.

Minghao kisses him and somehow Mingyu is still unprepared for it. He has one hand hovering over Minghao’s hip, not quite daring enough to touch. Minghao’s mouth is warm, unlike the cold air still sneaking up the back of Mingyu’s shirt. He kisses sweet and patient— like he’s got all day to spend on it. Mingyu keeps his other hand on the desk, bracing himself there.

“I should shut the door,” Mingyu says when Minghao does pull back, his face burning. Minghao’s eyebrows lift, vanishing under his bangs.

“Are you cold?” He asks. One of his hands has slipped around the side of Mingyu’s hip, now up the back of his shirt. His hands are always cold and the touch makes Mingyu jump, a gasp escaping his mouth.

“A little.” Much less now with Minghao so close to him. Minghao doesn’t pull his hand away, his fingers tracing up the line of Mingyu’s spine, up to the blades of his shoulders. It’s a light touch, one that makes Mingyu shiver.

Minghao tilts his face up once again and this time Mingyu is the one to kiss him. Minghao’s hand presses into his back, the tips of his fingers still cool but his palm warm. His chest is firm against Mingyu’s and it lights a hunger in his stomach. 

It's almost unfamiliar to him, the way it wakes in his lungs like a flame, devouring all the oxygen in them. Minghao manages to still seem unhurried, even with his tongue in Mingyu’s mouth. Mingyu’s hand closes around his hip, finding his way under Minghao’s sweater to his bare skin. The chill in the room only makes him more reluctant to pull away. 

“You should shut it.” Minghao finally admits— only after he’s kissed Mingyu into a daze.

Mingyu does his best to blink the haze out of his eyes. His hand is all the way up Minghao’s shirt, thumb only an inch or so off of his nipple.

It’s cold, midday sunlight is starting to slant through the room and curl around Minghao from the back. The tip of his nose is pink. All these things hit Mingyu like the round impact of a punch to the gut, blowing the air out of him again.

“Okay.” It comes out of Mingyu like a wheeze but sounds more like a groan— reluctant, wanting. Minghao laughs, his fingers dancing down Mingyu’s back.

“Your bed is more comfortable.” The heat of his breath breezes over the side of Mingyu’s neck, nearly close enough for his lips to touch skin. Mingyu’s skin erupts in goosebumps. 

Mingyu’s fingers flex tighter, pulling their hips tighter together. The tease of friction makes Minghao’s eyes flutter shut. He leans forward, burying his face in the juncture of Mingyu’s neck. He flutters tiny kisses against the skin, fleeting touches of his lips. It’s impossible for Mingyu to get away, not that he’s trying very hard at the moment.

Minghao is the one to step away, shoving his bangs out of his eyes with a tight laugh.

“The door,” Minghao says, giving Mingyu a nudge. Mingyu nods, shuffling away from the desk and the heat of Minghao’s body. The old boards creak under his feet when he goes down the stairs. He swings the door shut, closing out the cold air with a little shiver of his own. He kicks his shoes off as well.

Upstairs, he can hear Minghao going down the hall, from the office to the bedroom. It makes his stomach twist in a different way; the sound of someone else occupying the house. As much as he wants to sprint up the stairs and lose himself again in the heat of Minghao’s body, he also wants the moment to listen to the soft creak of his footsteps.

The sound stops— the walk is short, after all— and Mingyu makes his way up the stairs once again.

Minghao is not stretched across the bed when he comes in. He has his back to the door, head in Mingyu’s closet. Mingyu pauses in the doorway, biting down on his lip and trying not to laugh.

“Are you gonna steal my sweaters?” Mingyu asks, leaning his shoulder against the door frame. Minghao turns towards him, his fingers dragging over the sleeve of one of his jackets.

“I might.” He grins, stepping away and swinging the door shut. “I haven’t had a good chance to poke around in here.”

“There’s nothing secret in here,” Mingyu says, leaving his spot in the door. He reaches out for Minghao but Minghao dodges out of his grasp. He grabs for Mingyu’s nightstand, fingers closing around the knob.

Mingyu blushes and Minghao raises his eyebrows. “Nothing?”

“It’s not—” His face gets even redder, scratching the back of his head. “Secret.”

Minghao’s grin sharpens and he pulls the drawer open, sending the contents of it rattling to the front. He meant it when he said things weren’t a secret. Still, having Minghao uncover his vibrator and the lube that he keeps with it is beyond embarrassing.

He picks the matte black toy up, rolling it in his palm with a single huff of laughter before tucking it away again. Mingyu keeps his eyes covered until Minghao tugs at his wrists, pulling his hands away from his face.

“You look cute,” Minghao says, pressing a kiss to the corner of Mingyu’s mouth. He turns them both so Mingyu’s back is to the bed. Mingyu takes the hint, backing up until his knees hit the mattress and sitting down on it. Minghao’s fingers scrape his bangs back, nails scratching Mingyu’s scalp. He hums, leaning his head into it and shifting back on the bed. He pulls at Minghao’s hips until Minghao is kneeling over his lap.

Mingyu gets stuck like that, staring at Minghao and trying to remember exactly what he’s supposed to do next.

“Kiss me,” Minghao says, part invitation and part command. Mingyu is happy to do as he’s told, molding his mouth to Minghao’s and pulling him in closer. Minghao sighs, content, lips parting for Mingyu’s tongue. Mingyu nips at his lower lip, his hands sliding up the back of his shirt. His heart is going too fast— too eager.

When Minghao breaks the kiss, laughing, Mingyu isn’t deterred. He focuses on the side of his jaw, instead, teeth dragging over the tendon in his neck. He mouths at the juncture of his neck, tasting the salt of his skin. Pressed close, Minghao doesn’t smell like sweat. He smells like fresh earth and spring grass.

Mingyu’s hands slide further up his shirt, mapping the lean muscles of Minghao’s back. Minghao’s hands pull free of his hair only for him to grab at the hem of his own shirt, pulling it up over his head and off. His chest is pale, dotted with dark freckles that Mingyu wants to run his fingers over. He leans back from the tempting arch of Minghao’s collarbones, wrapping his arms tighter around Minghao’s back and rolling both of them to the side. Minghao makes a surprised sound, grabbing at Mingyu’s shoulders when he lurches.

They end up splayed across the bed, Minghao underneath Mingyu now, still gripping his shoulders with both hands. Minghao laughs after a moment, digging his knees into Mingyu’s hips. His palms drift down the arch of Mingyu’s back until they reach the bottom of his sweater, pulling it up over his head and tossing it to the side as well. 

When the fabric falls away, Mingyu grins. He plants his palms against the bed, leaning over to kiss Minghao once more. It feels good to be allowed to do it— to be wanted as badly as he wants Minghao. He’s had too much time to get used to one-sided longing. Minghao’s fingers curl around the back of his neck, trapping Mingyu in the kiss.

Minghao’s hips push up toward his, awkward and at the wrong angle with Mingyu’s body already smothering his. But Mingyu can still feel the drag. The way Minghao is half hard in his dark jeans and rolling against Mingyu for friction. It’s a surprise. It jolts electricity up the column of Mingyu’s spine. He buries his face against Minghao’s collarbone and groans, muffling it in his skin. Minghao adjusts his legs and then tries again, this time rolling up against the muscle of Mingyu’s thigh.

Mingyu’s ready to burst out of his own skin. He skims his fingers down Minghao’s ribs, teasing a ticklish shiver out of him, before grasping Minghao’s hips between his hands. He doesn’t change the rhythm that Minghao is moving at, only thumbs at the bones of his hips.

“Mingyu,” he says— sighs. Mingyu picks his face up from Minghao’s chest, teeth digging lines into his lower lip. 

“Yeah?” He asks, adding to the pressure of his thigh between Minghao’s legs. Minghao’s eyes flutter, not quite falling shut all the way.

“Take them off,” Minghao says, his voice drawing tighter. His eyes open all the way, his gaze locking with Mingyu’s this time. There’s a prickle in his spine— a sixth sense, an instinct. Minghao and his way of seeing Mingyu straight down to the core. It vanishes in a second— gone like it was never there to begin with. But Minghao’s face melts into a smile, understanding something. Mingyu can only wish he knew what.

Once again, he does as he’s told. He thumbs the button of Minghao’s pants open, drawing them off his hips and down his thighs. He has to pull his leg out of the way and the loss of pressure makes Minghao frown. Mingyu is quick to replace it with his own hand, once Minghao’s pants crumpled in a heap on the floor.

Minghao hums, stretching out one arm and pulling the drawer of Mingyu’s nightstand open once again. He has to dig for a second before he finds the lube once again, dragging it out to drop on the sheets next to him. Mingyu knows there’s something else. A box of condoms he wedged into the back of the drawer after the mortifying experience of having to buy them from Hansol. He felt ridiculous buying them; presumptuous. Like he was assuming he’d get Minghao in his bed, rather than blindly hoping for it.

Now that he’s here, he’s glad for the forethought. He reaches into the open drawer, leaning over Minghao and bracing his other hand on the rounded edge. It takes him a moment to find the box without being able to see what he’s looking for. Minghao takes advantage of the distraction to peel Mingyu’s jeans open, wiggling them down his hips.

Triumphant, Mingyu drops the box on the bed as well. Minghao laughs, biting Mingyu’s side, inches above his ribcage. It’s enough to leave a thin red imprint of his teeth behind.

“Oh, good,” Minghao says, looking down at the box. “Now you don’t have to run to the store.”

Mingyu laughs, rolling to the side to help Minghao pull his pants off. The quilt Mingyu sleeps under lays in a heap on the floor, leaving them with only the cotton sheets. Minghao isn’t finished yet with undressing him. He hooks his fingers in Mingyu’s underwear and pulling them off as well.

He closes his fingers loosely around Mingyu’s cock, holding his hand still when Mingyu’s hips kick up towards it. Mingyu’s brow draws in tight, the muscles in his legs twitching upwards in search of friction. Minghao’s grasp doesn't offer it, right on the edge of what Mingyu is seeking. Minghao curses, almost too low for Mingyu to hear, his thumb following the slit. Mingyu’s fingers curl in the sheets, threatening to pull them away from the mattress.

Minghao lets go of him and Mingyu does his best not to be disappointed. Minghao presses close to him, chest-to-chest, and Mingyu puts a hand on his hips again. He drags the last layer of fabric away from them, pressing his forehead against Minghao’s. Minghao has the lube open, drizzling it onto his fingers and warming it between them. The sight makes Mingyu blush all over again.

He’s surprised when Minghao pulls away. But he only does it to arrange himself over the sheets, hand between his legs now. Mingyu kneels above him, stripped bare. He's watching one of Minghao’s fingers slide past his rim. Mingyu’s hands slide under his thighs, following the lean lines of his muscles. He bends at the waist, knees sliding across the sheets until he’s lowered his stomach down to the bed, face level with Minghao’s knees. Minghao rolls his head to the side, watching Mingyu with a lazy smile on his face.

“Are you gonna make yourself useful there?” Minghao asks his words fluttering around the edge of a sigh. Mingyu nods, almost head-butting Minghao’s knee— overeager. He plants one hand to the bed, the other curling around Minghao’s cock to hold it in place. When he drags his tongue across the slit of Minghao’s cock, his hips kick up in surprise. 

He makes a sound low in his throat, yearning. It makes Mingyu ache straight down to his core. He wraps his mouth around Minghao’s cock, tongue laving slow strokes across the head. Minghao’s hips buck up once more and Mingyu uses his other hand to press them back into place. Minghao goes along, drawing his finger out only to line up a second and push them both in.

The distraction of Mingyu’s mouth must be welcome. Judging by the way Minghao’s other hand flails blindly in the air until it finds Mingyu’s hair. When he finds it, he grips Mingyu's hair. He doesn’t pull or try to shove Mingyu’s head down, just holds on. He groans out another curse, mouth falling open when Mingyu hitches one leg over his shoulder, spreading his thighs further apart.

With his mouth around Minghao’s dick, he can’t see what his fingers are doing. But he can hear Minghao’s stifled breathing, the rapid pants and bitten off gasps as he works himself open around his fingers. When Mingyu pulls his mouth away, flexing his jaw, he strokes Minghao’s cock loosely between his fingers.

Minghao groans, head rolling back between his shoulders. It draws his chest out in one long line, bones straining against skin. Without thinking, Mingyu stops his hand to take in the sight. Minghao manages to lift his head up once more, shooting Mingyu a sour look before throwing one of the condoms in his direction. It hits Mingyu in the shoulder and falls to the sheets, leaving Mingyu to sit up and fish it out.

Mingyu peels the foil open, rolling it over himself. Minghao pulls his fingers free with a muffled groan, reaching out both arms to grab at Mingyu’s hips and draw him in closer. That’s where Mingyu hesitates, taking in the sight of Minghao spread out on the sheets. His pale chest flushes pink and Mingyu runs a tentative palm over it, feeling the heat. Minghao stares up at him, a slight furrow of confusion in his brow. Mingyu doesn’t have a graceful way to explain what he’s doing so he doesn’t try. His hand goes from Minghao’s chest back down his side, thumb tracing the line of his ribs.

“I’m just—” He doesn’t know. Minghao’s expression melts into understanding. He props himself up on his elbows, fingers closing around Mingyu’s.

“You alright?” He asks. When Mingyu nods, he smiles, leaning up to kiss him again. Mingyu rolls his shoulders and focuses on the soft press of Minghao’s lips against his own, trying to relax. It helps and he adjusts his hips between Minghao’s legs, lining himself up.

When the rounded head of his cock pushes in, Minghao groans against his mouth. Mingyu is slow about it, huffing out a sigh when he finally guides their hips together. One of Minghao’s hands loops around the back of his neck, fingers smoothing through his hair.

“Feels good,” Minghao says, giving his hips an experimental roll. It saves Mingyu from mortifying himself having to ask. He holds tighter onto Minghao’s hips, fingers denting into his skin. He’s careful on the first few thrusts, wary still of going to fast. It seems like Minghao doesn’t mine. He squeezes the back of Mingyu’s neck, head tipping back. 

“Like that,” he says, words tangled up with each other. It’s between a request and a command and Mingyu squeezes his eyes shut. He’s doing his best to obey, keeping the steady pace of his hips but it’s a struggle. His spine has melted into a single column of heat and all instinct is telling him to go faster, harder—

But that’s not what Minghao wants. Not what he asked for. Mingyu presses his forehead against Minghao’s collarbone, grinding their hips together on the end of each thrust. Minghao’s nails scrape over the back of his neck when his hand falls away, dropping to the bed to curl into the sheets.

“Minghao.” The word is barely a sound at all, mumbled into the heat of Minghao’s skin and lost. But Minghao hears him somehow, rolls his head to the side and pets one hand over the back of Mingyu’s head.

“Don’t rush,” Minghao says, shaking his head. He picks his hands up and curls them around Mingyu’s shoulders, pulling him in. Mingyu stops for a moment, his chest pressed into Minghao’s. Minghao’s mouth flickers up into a smile, pressing his palm into the small of Mingyu’s back. His eyes catch Minghao’s and nervous fluttering erupts in the pit of Mingyu’s stomach.

Minghao presses his heel into the back of Mingyu’s thigh, urging him on once again. Mingyu takes the hint, picking up deep, long strokes again. Minghao gasps, clinging on still, refusing to let Mingyu pull back. Truthfully, Mingyu is happy like this, rolling his hips in steady, deep strokes. The change in position means his cock is also scraping past Minghao’s prostate on each thrust. Minghao’s hands on his back turn into the sharp prickle of nails digging into his skin, dragging thin red welts across it.

In spite of the chill still lingering in the air, there’s a thin sheen of sweat on Minghao’s skin. It makes him glow in the mid-morning light streaming through the window; head tossed back, one leg hitched around Mingyu’s waist. Between them, his cock is hard and leaking equally on his stomach and Mingyu’s. When Mingyu sits up enough to wrap a hand around it, Minghao jerks. His muscles squeeze tighter around Mingyu, encouraging him to go harder.

He wants to say something— about how Minghao looks perfect, or that Mingyu feels like…

Instead, he focuses on working Minghao over the edge. Keeping his pace slow like Minghao asked is a struggle, making him grit his teeth together. Minghao is pushing his hips up into Mingyu’s hand. He’s making sharp, half-formed noises in the back of his throat, eyebrows drawn together. Mingyu rolls his hips forward, grinding them against Minghao’s. He rubs his thumb over the crown of Minghao’s cock, spreading the bead of pre-come stuck there.

Minghao’s back arches, his body tensing like it’s tugged by a wire, coming over Mingyu’s fist with a strained noise. Mingyu strokes him through it, thrusts uneven, gripping onto one of Minghao’s thighs.

Minghao melts into the sheets, breathing hard. Mingyu pulls out, swallowing down the urge to start whining. Minghao picks his head up, bangs stuck to his forehead. He takes in the sight of Mingyu, kneeling in the middle of the bed, still hard, and smiles. 

“Lay down,” he says, sitting up with a grunt. He stretches his arms over his head, waiting for Mingyu to take his place. With Mingyu settled on the sheets, Minghao crawls over him, knees on either side of his hips. 

“Um,” Mingyu says, his head spinning. “You don’t have to…”

“Quiet,” Minghao says, rolling his eyes. He lifts his hips up, fingers holding Mingyu’s cock in place while he sinks down. Mingyu has to force himself still, pulling at the sheets with a strangled groan. Minghao takes a moment to settle into place, still half-hard between his legs. Mingyu doesn’t know where to even begin taking in the sight. From the pearly streaks of come on Minghao’s stomach, his neck stretched out in an elegant line, head tipped back and eyes almost shut. He isn’t ready for Minghao to start rolling his hips, either.

Mingyu squeezes his eyes shut, nails dragging over the sheets. Minghao is moving with a singular purpose, grunting. He works his hips on Mingyu’s cock fast and uneven, his thighs smacking against Mingyu’s. It’s a hard pace to keep up with but it doesn’t matter, Mingyu won’t make it long enough for Minghao to tire himself out.

He peels his fingers away from the sheets and sits up, arms around Minghao’s waist. Minghao sighs, burying his face in the crook of Mingyu’s neck and kissing the salty skin there.

Mingyu comes like that, so hard he detaches from his body and joins the host of spirits already in the house. Minghao holds onto him in return, stilling when Mingyu’s hips no longer twitch up against his.

His breathing is heavy, chest heaving against Mingyu’s. They stay like that, foreheads leaning together, both struggling to catch their breath. They’re forced to detach eventually— Minghao flops on his stomach on the bed and Mingyu throws the condom away, his face burning the whole time.

When he’s finished, Minghao sits up, reaching out for him. He draws Mingyu back into bed, spooning up against his back and draping an arm over his chest.

It seems a little strange, considering they were the other way around, to begin with, but Mingyu doesn’t mind it. He’s content like this, with Minghao fluttering kisses against the back of his neck.

Mingyu wants to say something. He wants to say a lot of things, really. They aren’t in the midst of a casual fling. Mingyu’s heart feels too big for his chest even thinking about it. He’s falling in love with Xu Minghao. He might even be there already. Minghao’s hand on his chest is like an omen, a foretelling.

He picks Minghao’s hand up, flipping it over so his palm is facing upward. With a single finger, he traces over the three lines that Minghao showed him— head, heart, life. Mingyu doesn’t know what they mean but he runs his finger over them again, trying to memorize the curves.

Here too, he fails to come up with the right words. He laces his fingers through Minghao’s instead, bending his head to kiss the center of his palm.  


* * *

  
Unfortunately, neither of them have the time to lay in bed and soak each other in for the entire afternoon.

Minghao leaves, Mingyu showers and goes about the rest of his day alone and goes to sleep that way too.

It’s early when he wakes up, this time to the sounds of scratching directly outside the closed door of his bedroom. It’s the first sign of the otherworldly inhabitants of the house in a few weeks— Mingyu was starting to think they might be gone.

The door rattles like someone is shoving weight against it— trying to get in.

The hall outside goes quiet again. Just as Mingyu is shutting his eyes, hoping that ghosts can’t work a doorknob, he hears the quiet mew of a cat. Then again— louder and closer to the door.

That gets Mingyu up on his feet. He pulls the door open and finds a white kitten in the hallway. The cat regards him with the same confusion Mingyu has for it. Then it meows once more, demanding. Careful not to move too fast, Mingyu kneels down and holds one hand out for the cat to sniff.

The cat is tiny— small enough to fit in Mingyu’s palm. It's all white. White with little gray patches around the ears and toes and vibrant green eyes that follow Mingyu’s every move.

“How did you get in here?” He asks, voice soft. The cat doesn’t answer him, just rubs its head against his palm in search of affection. Mingyu sighs, rubbing its head for a moment, considering…

It’s far too cold to put the kitten back outside. Mingyu lifts it up in one hand, cradling it to his chest. The cat doesn’t protest, though it does poke its tiny claws into his shirt, holding on while he walks down the stairs.

He sets the kitten on the counter and rummages around until he manages to find a can of tuna in one of the cabinets.

“I guess you can stay here,” Mingyu says, stroking the cats back while it eats. It sounds a little silly spoken out loud like he’s giving the kitten permission to crash with him for a few days.

The apartment he used to share with Soonyoung and Jihoon didn’t allow pets. Until now, Mingyu hadn’t even considered bringing an animal into the house.

The cat finishes eating and sits on the counter, using its tiny paw to clean its muzzle. Mingyu's captivated for a moment, watching it clean the remaining fish from its muzzle. When it’s finished, the cat looks up at him and meows once again, opening its mouth to reveal tiny teeth and a pink tongue.

“Are you tired too?” Mingyu asks, holding his hand out once again. This time the cat doesn’t hesitate, climbing into his palm laying its head against his wrist.

Mingyu has to fight off a grin, cradling the cat to his chest once again and carrying it up the stairs.

He means to set it on the floor but when he tries the cat digs its tiny claws in until they needle at his chest. With a sigh, Mingyu relents and carefully lays down, the cat still on him.

They both fall asleep like that.  


* * *

  
“Who is that?” Minghao asks, a few days later when he shows up to find Mingyu with the cat asleep on his shoulder.

“She showed up,” Mingyu says, shaking his head. He still needs to find a vet to take the cat to, but in the meantime, he was able to give her a bath and pick up some decent cat food.

“You’re keeping her?” Minghao sounds pleased, reaching out to scratch between her ears.

“I named her Ghost,” Mingyu says, looking up with a grin.

Like she’s wise to them talking about her, Ghost lifts her head and regards Minghao. She blinks several times, slow and sleepy, before tipping her head back and licking the tip of his finger once.

Minghao laughs, muffling it behind one of his hands. “She’s cute.”  


* * *

  
Mingyu doesn’t think anything of the text message Jeonghan sends him asking where his new house is. Jeonghan could be asking him for any reason, really.

But it’s Jeonghan, after all. So Mingyu should be ready for the bright Saturday morning when Soonyoung calls him, way too early for Soonyoung to be up.

“Morning,” Mingyu says, watching Ghost chase a piece of lint across the floor. “You’re up early.”

“We can’t find it,” Soonyoung says. There’s loud music in the background, almost drowning out his voice entirely. He grunts and a moment later the music cuts down.

“Find what?” Mingyu asks, blinking.

“Your house,” Soonyoung says. “There are only four roads in this stupid town and I have no idea which one you live on.”

That makes Mingyu bolt upright, awake in an instant.

“You’re here?” It shouldn’t make his heart stick in his throat like this.

“Uh, yeah?” Soonyoung says. Then, likely to Jihoon he says, “Don’t turn there.”

“It’s the only turn,” Jihoon says, loud enough for Mingyu to hear.

“It isn’t on the main road,” Mingyu says, scratching the back of his neck. “There’s a long driveway between the trees.”

“A driveway?” Soonyoung repeats, humming in the back of his throat.

“You’re coming right now?” Mingyu asks, hopping up the stairs two at a time.

“You could’ve given Jeonghan better directions,” Jihoon grumbles. Soonyoung starts jabbering excitedly about being able to see the driveway and hangs up on accident. Mingyu breathes out for the first time since he picked up the phone and does his best to concentrate.

It isn’t a bad thing that the two of them are here. His heart is trying to slam its way through his ribs while he struggles to pull a sweater on.

It isn’t bad, still. Ghost is up on the couch now, peeking her face over the arm of it and watching him go by.

He can hear tires on the gravel drive outside after a few minutes of cleaning whatever his hands touch. In spite of the cold, he ends up on the porch, in his socks, watching Soonyoung’s old sedan pull in, Jihoon sitting behind the wheel.

Other than a handful of skype calls here and there, it’s the first time that Mingyu has seen the two of them in almost six months. His heart does a painful lurch in his chest. They haven’t really changed— Jihoon’s bleached his hair, trapped under a cap to keep it back from his face.

Soonyoung flings himself out of the car before Jihoon even has it in park. He leaves the door open and sprinting across the mixed gravel and snow to throw himself at Mingyu. Mingyu is ready for it, bracing himself for the impact before Soonyoung reaches him. He’s still almost knocked off his feet, arms around Soonyoung’s waist to keep him from falling. Soonyoung laughs, all bliss, his face buried in Mingyu’s chest.

“I missed you,” he says, lifting his face enough to meet Mingyu’s eyes.

Mingyu’s cheeks burn. Jihoon pulls himself out of the car, shutting his door and narrowing his eyes at Soonyoung.

“Come close it,” he says, opening the back door and pulling out a duffle bag, looping it over his shoulders. It’s exactly like Soonyoung to plan an overnight without thinking to ask about Mingyu’s plans.

It’s okay. He’s got space for both of them, anyway.

Soonyoung sticks his tongue out, clinging to Mingyu’s shirt. “You do it.”

Jihoon glares when Soonyoung turns away but he also goes around the other side of the car and kicks Soonyoung’s door shut, shaking his head. Mingyu opens up one arm, making space like he expects Jihoon to join in on the hug. Jihoon looks at him, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips for a moment before he scoffs.

“You better have running water,” he says, brushing by Mingyu with a pat on the shoulder.

“I do,” Mingyu says. He keeps his hand on the small of Soonyoung’s back, leading them inside. “I got a cat, too.”

“You did?” Soonyoung asks, his eyes round with excitement. “When?”

“Ah, two weeks ago?” Mingyu says, tilting his head to the side while he thinks. “She kinda wandered in on her own.”

Ghost is still on the couch, making unbroken eye contact with Jihoon when he walks in the door. Jihoon stops, dropping the bag to the floor and staring back at her.

“She’s little,” Soonyoung says, cooing and wiggling his stubby fingers in front of her face.

“That’s Ghost,” Mingyu says. He nudges the door shut with his elbow and lingers there, taking in the sight.

It’s strange— beyond strange— to see the two of them in this house. It’s hardly seen any visitors— just Hansol and Minghao in the time he’s been here. Jihoon and Soonyoung seem at odds with the faded curtains and old appliances. 

“I want a tour,” Soonyoung says, Ghost cupped in his palms now.

“There’s not that much to see,” Mingyu says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I wanna see the attic,” Jihoon says, grinning.

“It’s not haunted anymore,” Mingyu says. He’s not sure that’s entirely true— thinks of the keys left on the table that he stuffed into a drawer and decided to ignore. But the scratching and banging in the middle of the night have stopped. Things no longer go missing unless Mingyu is the one losing them. There are no more stones lining the windows.

“Still kinda creepy,” Jihoon says, shaking his head. “Living in a dead person’s house.”

“It’s my house,” Mingyu says, a little defensive. In the last few months, the place has gone from being a project— a distraction from the rest of his life— to something like a home. 

Soonyoung sets Ghost back on the couch and throws his arms over Jihoon’s shoulders, pressing a kiss under his ear. “Don’t be a dick.”

“I’m not.” Jihoon’s cheeks are pink.

Mingyu laughs, choking on it a little. “I can show you.”  


* * *

  
The tour doesn’t take long. Mingyu carries their shared bag up to the spare bedroom. He's glad he thought to wash the linens a few weeks ago after promising Soonyoung they could visit.

Jihoon shuffles off to shower, leaving Mingyu and Soonyoung lingering in the living room.

Mingyu can’t recall the last time he sat in silence with Soonyoung— if it’s ever happened at all. But Soonyoung doesn’t say anything. He wanders around the room, looks at the little knickknacks that Mingyu has scattered around. He’s rolling a chunk of crystal that Minghao insisted had to go in that exact spot in his hand when he finally turns and faces Mingyu all the way.

“This place looks really cool,” he says, setting the crystal down once more and stuffing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “I didn’t think you were gonna do so much with it.”

“Ah, I wanted it to be nice, I guess.”

“I thought…” Soonyoung snaps his mouth shut, shaking his head.

“What?” Mingyu asks, tentative as well.

“You put in a lot of work,” Soonyoung says, looking down at the floor. “You’re planning on living out here?”

“Um.” Mingyu squeezes his hands together. “I don’t know… at least until the book is done, I guess? Jeonghan is gonna want me to go around and promote it again.”

“Crowds like you,” Soonyoung says, a muted smile on his face.

“I guess.”

“What about after?” Soonyoung lifts his head, looking straight at Mingyu once more. “When are you coming home?”

“I don’t know,” Mingyu says, the words leaving his mouth slowly. “I haven’t… thought that far yet.”

“Are you coming back at all?” Soonyoung asks. It’s quieter this time, less steady. “It’s weird… you not being around.”

Mingyu’s mouth feels like its full of cotton. ”I didn’t… I haven’t decided.”

“I guess you haven’t missed it that much,” Soonyoung says, a sharp glitter in his eyes. The look freezes Mingyu in place, rooted down to the foundation of the house.

“I missed you,” Mingyu says, though the protest is meek.

“We made it weird, huh?” Soonyoung keeps going like Mingyu didn’t speak at all. “When me and Jihoon started dating. You just up and left.”

Mingyu wants to protest again, to tell Soonyoung that he’s got it all wrong. But this time he’s not sure which one of them is right. It wasn’t only the two of them dating that made him leave. It was exhaustion, the bone-deep sensation that he was on the wrong path and he had to do something drastic to get off of it.

It was the loneliness, too. The gnawing fear that they’d never want him the way they wanted each other.

“I’m sorry,” Mingyu says, surprised by the sound of his own voice. “It wasn’t like that, really.”

“Now you don’t wanna come back.”

“That’s…” Mingyu’s ears burn. “That’s different.”

“Because of the house?” Soonyoung says. He looks around again, then frowns. “Or because of the witch?”

“Minghao,” he says, correcting it out of reflex.

“You are seeing him,” Soonyoung says, not quite smiling.

Mingyu nods slowly, the blush on his face getting worse. He hasn’t actually told anyone much about Minghao.

He’s starting to realize he hasn’t told Soonyoung much of anything lately.

“I still want you to come back,” Soonyoung says, turning toward the stairs again.

Upstairs, the pipes creak as the shower shuts off.

“Think about it?” Soonyoung says, looking over his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Mingyu says, straining for words. “I… I will.”  


* * *

  
Two days after Soonyoung and Jihoon leave, Mingyu comes home from the store to find an overgrown pot of plants sitting on his front porch.

His first guess is that Minghao left it. It wouldn’t be the first time that he made up his mind that Mingyu had to have something and went out to get it on his own.

But there’s something odd about it, too. Mingyu doesn’t recognize any of the herbs and in the middle, there’s a little star made up of twigs draped unevenly over each other.

Mingyu feels a chill for a second and leaves it alone while he takes his food in and puts it away.

A few hours later, before the sun goes down, he goes back out to get it. No sense in letting the mystery plant die before he’s investigated it.  


* * *

  
The sound of feet stomping around in the attic starts up again. It eventually gets so loud that Ghost creeps under the bed and refuses to come out until morning.  


* * *

  
“I thought you said the deadline was solid this time,” Jeonghan says, sighing into the phone.

“I know.” Mingyu wants to sigh too. More than that, he wants to start yawning. “I haven’t been getting a lot of sleep lately.”

“I get it,” Jeonghan says, no barbs this time. “Well, if that’s how it’s gotta be. You’ve been turning in drafts pretty steadily for a while, I’m sure they won’t be too annoyed.”

There’s a pause, then Jeonghan continues. “I thought you got your place ghost-busted.”

“I thought so too,” Mingyu says, pushing his fingers back through his hair with a groan. “I need to talk to my neighbor about it.”

It feels strange to call Minghao his neighbor, rather than his boyfriend. But that would only awaken a flurry of questions from Jeonghan that he doesn’t have the energy to answer.

“You could try coming home,” Jeonghan says, light and teasing. “There were no ghosts in your old place.”

“What am I supposed to do with the cat?” Mingyu says. Ghost lifts her head, always aware of when she’s the topic of conversation. She goes from the bed in the windowsill to Mingyu’s lap in an instant, making herself comfortable on his thighs.

She’s grown considerably since she wandered into the house. Her fur is lush and soft under Mingyu’s fingers and she settles in when he starts rubbing the back of her head.

“Give her to me.”

“I’ll get it done,” Mingyu says, shaking his head.

“I’ll get you some more time,” Jeonghan says, quicker to agree than usual.

It has been weighing heavy on Mingyu lately; the question if he should stay or go. He misses pieces of his life— his friends, his little sister, the late night dashes for fast food he used to make with Jihoon.

But if he left, he would be missing Ghost and the house. There’s no telling what it would mean between him and Minghao.

“I can send you an update in a few days,” Mingyu says, scratching under Ghost’s chin now.

“Ah, so professional,” Jeonghan says, teasing once more. “Send pictures of the cat, too. I like her better.”

Mingyu laughs, hanging up after saying his good-byes.

He leans back in the chair, slumping down until his knees hit the bottom of the desk. Ghost takes the chance to crawl from his lap up to his shoulder, nuzzling her cheek against his face.

“You don’t wanna go live with him,” Mingyu grumbles, putting his hand under Ghost’s back legs to make sure she doesn’t fall. She’s gotten used to crawling over him like furniture.

Ghost doesn’t answer, choosing instead to settle down with her body stretched across his chest, purring.  


* * *

  
He waits a few more days before he says anything about it to Minghao. He's holding onto the hope that the activity will settle down on its own.

When it doesn’t, he winds up in the attic with Minghao once again. Watching him poke through the charm bag that he put there in the first place.

“Still looks good,” Minghao says, sitting back on his heels and humming. “Sometimes you get an issue when mice chew through them and stuff but this one is fine.”

“So why is it back?” Mingyu says, whining a little.

“Hard to say,” Minghao says, closing the bag up. He leans back, looking up at Mingyu with a little shrug of his thin shoulders. “There aren’t a lot of rules with this stuff. Whatever’s stuck must be stronger than this.”

“What am I supposed to do now?” Mingyu says, lower lip stuck out in a pout.

“You can come stay with me for a few days,” Minghao says, pushing himself back up to his feet. “That’s not gonna solve it, though.”

“What will?” There’s a little piece of cobweb stuck in Minghao’s hair and Mingyu reaches out to pull it free. Minghao’s mouth lifts into a smile at the corners, tilting his head toward the soft touch of Mingyu’s hand.

“Something needs to move on,” Minghao says, a little hesitant. He scratches the back of his neck, looking around the dusty attic. There’s a circular swath of light on the floor arcing in from the single window.

Mingyu doesn’t spend a lot of his time up here, there’s no need for him to. But it too feels like part of the house now.

“The ghost?” Mingyu asks. Minghao frowns, stepping away to pace through the light. He runs his fingers over the boards on the wall. Mingyu realizes he’s standing where the door to the balcony should be.

“Maybe,” he says. “It might be something else.” He turns, backlit by the harsh light coming off the snow outside. “There's a different energy up here, now. You can feel it, right?”

Mingyu frowns, bobbing his head in a reluctant nod. “So it’s not a ghost?”

“I don’t know.” The mystery doesn’t trouble him the way it does Mingyu. “It could be the house itself. It could be you.”

“Me?” Mingyu repeats, laughing. “I’m haunting the house?”

Minghao rolls his eyes, turning toward the window instead. “Your _energy_ might be causing it.”

With a sigh, Mingyu crosses the room and drapes his arms over Minghao’s shoulders. He buries his face in the back of Minghao’s shoulder. Even in the dead of winter, he smells like freshly dug earth and the spice of herbs. Minghao leans into the embrace, reaching one hand back to pat at Mingyu’s head.

“How do I fix my energy?” Mingyu mumbles, words captive in the juncture of Minghao’s neck.

“There’s something you need to do,” Minghao says, fingers curled around the nape of his neck. “Unfinished business.”

“I thought that’s what ghosts had,” Mingyu says. He tightens his grasp around Minghao, feeling the beat of his heart and rise of his breath.

“We’ve all got unfinished business.” He tilts his head, trying to catch Mingyu’s gaze. “You have things to put to rest.”

He shuts his eyes and thinks of Soonyoung asking _are you coming back at all?_

“I have a month until the deadline they gave me,” Mingyu says. He pulls back from Minghao reluctantly, touch lingering even when he lets go. 

Minghao turns toward him, light falling harsh on one side of his face and the gloom of the attic shadowing the other. It makes his expression impossible to interpret.

“A month,” he repeats, looking around the attic again. 

He doesn’t ask what’s going to happen when the book is finished and Mingyu is glad. He has no answer.  


* * *

  
It takes a few days longer than it’s supposed to, but Mingyu finally sends Jeonghan the finished draft. 

The night after, the mirror hanging near the fireplace cracks in two, still hanging in its place on the wall.  


* * *

  
Spring starts to creep in. Minghao asks if he wants help planting a garden. He meets Mingyu’s little sister when she comes to visit.

It’s late in the afternoon when Mingyu climbs into the attic.

Ghost is sitting at the bottom of the ladder, looking up at him with her tail flicking against the ground. When Mingyu was halfway up she put one of her paws delicately on the first rung like she was thinking about following him.

It seems like she decided against it in the end.

Mingyu takes a seat in the middle of the room, occupying the now waning patch of sun and staring out over the rest of the room.

“I finished the book,” he says like somehow this will be enough to set things to peace once again.

But then, he didn’t come here to write a book in the first place.

Clouds start gathering outside, threatening a spring storm and choking out the light. Mingyu takes a slow breath and shuts his eyes. He’s trying to feel the energy of the room that Minghao is always trying to tell him about. He doesn’t know what it means or what he’s supposed to be looking for.

Mingyu opens his eyes and looks up at the rafters.

The house feels familiar; the sharp angle of the roof, the light that arcs in from the windows in the early morning, the creaks and sighs when it settles at night. It’s no longer a place that only holds fond memories of his childhood.

It’s his— the imprint of his life and the way he’s lived for the past six months is in every room. 

He runs the flat of his palm over the scuffed floor, feeling the grain of the wood. Maybe that’s what Minghao is trying to tell him he should be feeling.

Then again, maybe not.

“I’m not…” he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not here to hide, anymore.”

His words ring in the quiet attack and Mingyu laughs at himself.

“This is silly,” he says, shaking his head. “Who am I trying to tell?”

He should be telling Soonyoung, after all.

Mingyu picks himself up with a sigh, dusting off his legs and looking around with a smile.

Outside, it’s started to rain, fat drops smacking against the glass of the window. Mingyu pauses, staring out over the lawn. The grass has come back to life, lush and green once more, and the blades bend and sway in the breeze.

He can see lights in Minghao’s windows and the shadow of him moving around.  


* * *

  
By the time he gets to Minghao’s door, his shirt is soaked through and stuck to his skin. He huddles in close to the door, shrugging his shoulders in to try and stay out of the brain, tapping his knuckles against the door.

Minghao opens it, blinking in surprise when he takes in the sight of Mingyu.

“You’re dripping,” he says, reaching out and pulling Mingyu inside. Mingyu shrugs, shaking his hair to try and get rid of some of the rain. Minghao laughs, shutting the door and shoving at Mingyu’s shoulder.

“Don’t get my house wet,” he says, wrinkling his nose. “Stay there. Take your shirt off.”

“Okay,” Mingyu says, pulling his shirt up over his head and passing it into Minghao’s hands.

He comes back in a few minutes with a towel, handing it over for Mingyu to dry himself off.

“What made you run over here in the rain?” He asks, grabbing the towel and pulling it away from Mingyu’s face. It ends up draped carelessly over the back of his neck, Minghao using it to reel him a step closer.

“Just to see you,” Mingyu says, cupping one hand around the side of Minghao’s face.

“In this?” Minghao says, looking over Mingyu’s shoulder. Outside the rain has picked up into a gale. He looks back at Mingyu, his eyes narrowing. “You’re selling it?”

“What?” Mingyu says, leaning back with a frown. “Selling what?”

“The house,” Minghao says, mouth twisted into a frown. He’s still holding onto the towel, keeping Mingyu from getting any further away. “You said after you finished…”

“I’m not selling it,” Mingyu says, looping his arm around Minghao’s waist. “I like it. I’m keeping it.”

A slow smile starts on Minghao’s face. “Even if it’s still haunted?”

“Sure,” Mingyu says, bending in until his forehead is almost against Minghao’s. “I don’t mind it. I wanna be here.”

“I’m glad,” Minghao says. He runs his hands down the bare skin of Mingyu’s chest. Here they both pause, both of them holding their breath.

“With you,” Mingyu says, in a rush. “I wanna be here with you.”

That makes Minghao grin, grabbing the towel once more and using it to pull Mingyu into a kiss. He tugs him away from the door and up the stairs, laying kisses on his face the entire time.  


* * *

  
“I should go back and visit,” Mingyu says, running his fingers through Minghao’s hair.

Neither of them has bothered putting on clothes yet and the storm outside is still raging.

“Your friends?” Minghao says fingers splayed over Mingyu’s ribs. Mingyu nods, his hand wandering down the line of Minghao’s neck.

“Yeah,” he says, laying his head back against the pillow.

Minghao’s room is small and warm, a stack of blankets sitting on the end of the bed and an array of crystals on the shelf hanging near the window. There are more plants here too, flowers that Mingyu doesn’t know the name of.

“You should come too,” Mingyu says, looking out the window rather than at Minghao.

“Really?” Minghao says, lifting his eyebrows. “I didn’t meet them last time.”

“That’s okay,” Mingyu says, mouth pressed to Minghao’s temple. “I want you to.”

“Alright,” Minghao says, trying to hide his pleased smile against Mingyu’s chest. “You should take me to meet your parents then, too.”

Mingyu’s face flushes red. He lets the idea settle in for a moment before he nods, grinning as well.

“Yeah,” Mingyu says, curling his body into Minghao’s. “That sounds good, too.”

  


* * *

  


_Beside me always, a kingdom of spirit;  
inside me, a haunted house_  
— Segovia Amil 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you read this whole thing, thanks for doing that!! i love this fic. it's got a special place in my heart.
> 
> twt: @eightology | @knightspur_ao3


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